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am I really extinct
Down in the Dirt (v122) (the Mar./Apr. 2014 Issue)




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I Pull the Srings

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Consequences

Susan Rocks

    When Cecelia came home she usually paused to admire her stunning penthouse apartment with its far-reaching views over the city, to remind herself how far she had come. Today she didn’t. Throwing her coat and bags onto one of the white leather sofas, she turned on the music system and the poignant strains of Rhapsody in Blue filled the room. She took a few calming deep breaths whilst pouring a large vodka tonic. Sitting down at her uncluttered desk she sipped her drink, beating an impatient tattoo with immaculate nails.
     Cecelia hadn’t recognised Debbie at first. She never dreamed she’d see her in this part of the city - after all, she was more Pound Shop than Prada. Her delightful elder sister had certainly let herself go in the past twenty years. There was only five years between them but Debbie looked far older. Always a chubby child, she was now decidedly obese, her pasty skin clearly not used to seeing daylight and brown and grey roots were showing through her cheaply-coloured hair. Cecelia thought she had left her past behind as the sleekly perfect creature she had become was very different to the scruffy, neglected fourteen year old who had finally escaped her family’s clutches. Unfortunately, given the circles she now moved in, her photo often appeared in the press, so there was always a slight chance one of them would recognise her. Their mother had run off to Spain after their father’s death but Debbie still lived in their childhood home. And now Debbie wanted money or she would reveal her sister’s buried secrets. Cecelia knew if she started paying it would never end and she had no intention of letting anyone have a hold over her again.
    Her diary was in front of her and she checked her plans for the next few days, seeking solace in the familiarity of routine. By each event was noted the outfit she intended to wear, down to the smallest item of jewellery. Tonight her fiancé’s sister was opening a new gallery, yet another fad no doubt, but she had better confirm she was going. She picked up the phone and dialled, pulling her mouth into a smile as she left a voice message.
    ‘Annabelle, it’s Cecelia. Just walked past the gallery. Looks fab darling. Can’t wait for the opening tonight. See you at seven. Kiss, kiss.’ The charades they all went through were farcical and she couldn’t bear Annabelle but, as her future sister-in-law, Cecelia had to hide her contempt. She had cultivated their style to ensure acceptance, and maintain her own pretence, but she never imagined it would be such hard work. Going into her dressing room to put away her latest purchases, she double-checked her maid’s instruction list to ensure everything would be ready for later. Her fiancé, Anthony, laughed at her obsession with what he called ‘old-fashioned pen and paper’, and had bought her an iPad but it remained in its box. He thought it one of her quirks, one of the reasons he loved her, unaware she was constantly afraid of being found a fraud, and this was one way she kept control.
    The only person she could turn to in such a crisis was Jimmy, the man who had rescued her from the streets, helped guide and educate her, setting her on the path she somehow always knew she was destined to follow. Jimmy would always help, no matter how tricky the problem. She dialled his number.
    ‘Hello gorgeous girl. What’s up?’ he answered and Cecelia felt the tension begin to seep away at the sound of a voice as familiar as her own.
    ‘Darling, I’ve got rather a problem. Debbie has found me and is trying a bit of blackmail. I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do about it. Any suggestions?’
    ‘Okay.’ He paused. ‘I suppose there was a danger she would. She always was a nasty piece of work.’ Jimmy paused and she could imagine him sitting at his desk, immaculately dressed in his usual navy pinstripe suit, running a hand through his thick grey hair.
    ‘You could always go round there,’ Jimmy continued, ‘try to reason with her. Tell her Anthony knows everything so she hasn’t got anything to hold over you.’
    ‘I don’t know.’ Cecelia paused, trying to decide the best option. ‘She’s not really the sort of person you can argue with. She always insisted she was right, even when we were children, and I would imagine she’s worse now.’
    ‘Why don’t you try it?’ He laughed, ‘if it doesn’t work you could always go to the police.’
    ‘No,’ she shouted, her cool faćade momentarily disappearing. ‘No way. Then it would all come out and I’ll lose everything.’ She was taken aback; Jimmy wasn’t normally so harsh, even when he was joking with her.
    ‘Hey sweetheart, calm down. You usually know when I’m teasing. God, you really are upset about this aren’t you?’
    ‘Sorry Jimmy. It’s just brought everything back. I’ve got so much on at the moment what with getting ready for the wedding and trying to get Anthony’s parents on side. They’re still unsure of me.’
    ‘I’m sure you’ll charm them over soon.’
    This time Cecelia did laugh. ‘I’ll go round tomorrow morning. Anthony’s picking me up in the afternoon as we’re off to the old ancestral pile for a weekend pheasant shoot.’
    ‘Oh dear, what a hard life you lead,’ he chuckled. ‘Seriously, if you can’t persuade her to back off, let me know and I’ll arrange something to change her mind.’ Cecelia’s face hardened, her mask firmly back in place, cursing herself for her moment’s weakness allowing her vulnerability to show, even if it only was in front of Jimmy. She knew perfectly well what he was capable of, after all he had dealt with the problem of her father, but a similar fate would be what sister dearest deserved. As she walked back to the kitchen, she thought of the rumours she’d heard lately that made her question his motives but just as quickly dismissed them.
    The following day was damp and miserable, grey rainclouds hanging over the city. Cecelia dressed carefully, she didn’t want to stand out or risk anyone recognising her. Unfortunately, even her oldest clothes were designer, but she did the best she could. Her maid had left an old quilted coat behind which Cecelia put on, the bulk disguising her slim figure. She pushed her blonde hair under a hat and wrapped a pashmina around her neck, pulling it over the lower part of her face. Before leaving she took off her diamond and sapphire engagement ring, placing it carefully in the velvet-lined box; she didn’t want Debbie trying to get her hands on it, although Cecelia doubted her sister would have any idea how much it was really worth.
    The taxi dropped her off several streets away and as she walked the drizzle turned to rain. She pushed her hands deeper into the pockets as the familiarity of the area brought long-buried memories flooding back, and the closer she got, the more she felt herself reverting to the scared child she had once been. It took all her strength to shrug those feelings away. Cecelia looked around warily and could see attempts had been made to smarten up the area, but newly planted tree saplings had been ripped from their pots and broken railings jutted at strange angles. Graffiti decorated the stained walls and most of the paving stones were cracked. She heard angry barking and the pulsing bass of dance music before a door slammed, cutting off the sound, leaving the drone of traffic on the nearby overpass. She paused, staring at the house she had run from so many years before; Debbie had not just let herself go, but the house as well. Cecelia pushed open the broken gate and gingerly stepped round the rubbish on the path. The front door was ajar so Cecelia went in, following the smell of cigarette smoke and burnt toast down the dim hallway to the kitchen. Debbie was in front of the oven and turned as she heard the door.
    ‘Well, well, look who it is. Miss High and Mighty herself.’ A triumphant smile split her face and she turned back to the oven where she was pushing something unidentifiable around a frying pan caked in grease. Cecelia looked in disgust around the filthy kitchen. The small TV on the worktop, surrounded by unwashed dishes, was tuned to Neighbours. At least their mother used to keep the place clean and tidy, Cecelia thought, but then she had to, otherwise she would have received another beating. In the corner she noticed some holiday brochures on top of a leaning pile of newspapers. She guessed Debbie was already starting to plan how to spend the money she thought Cecelia would give her.
    ‘So what can I do for yer ladyship then? Oops sorry, forgot, you’re not actually an aristocrat yet.’ Debbie laughed bitterly, showing stained crooked teeth.
    ‘I thought we could sort this out. Have a sensible discussion,’ Cecelia began.
    ‘Nothin’ to discuss,’ Debbie said, adding a large dollop of ketchup to the pan. She picked up a fork and began to eat. ‘I told you I want money. Now.’
    ‘There’s no point trying to blackmail me,’ Cecelia said, now realising this was a complete waste of time. ‘My fiancé knows everything.’
    Losing her temper, Debbie’s face contorted into an ugly snarl and she threw the fork in the direction of the sink, ‘Oh come on bitch,’ she pulled a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of her worn sweat pants and lit one, blowing smoke in Cecelia’s face. ‘You mean to say all your posh friends know what a little slut you were? All about nicking stuff and boozing? And the lies you told? You were nothing better than a whore, before you got all la-di-da. Mind you, I s’pose you’re still one, sleeping your way to the top. Bet your fiancé don’t know that bit.’
    Cecelia was shocked. Didn’t Debbie remember what really happened? ‘You mean you’ve conveniently forgotten the beatings father handed out. It wasn’t just me; he went for mother as well. He even put her in hospital once.’
    ‘No, he didn’t. He might have slapped her a bit but he never laid a finger on you, not his little princess.’
    ‘How do you know that’s what he called me?’ It was as if Cecelia was re-living the horror all over again. ‘He only called me that after he’d ... you know. When he said I had to keep it secret.’ Even now she couldn’t bring herself to say the words.
    ‘Rubbish, you were his favourite and a right spoilt brat an’ all.’
    ‘If what you say is true,’ Cecelia said quietly, ‘how come I was pregnant when I left?’
    Debbie laughed, ‘Some school lad, I reckon. Like I said, you were a slut. And where’s the brat now eh? Bet you were lyin’ about that.’
    ‘I lost the baby, probably due to the punching he gave me.’ She couldn’t bring herself to tell Debbie how she had nearly died, how the hysterectomy had saved her life but that life would be childless. Just as she hadn’t been able to tell Anthony. She’d work out what to do about that when the time came - after all, when you had money there were ways of dealing with even seemingly insurmountable obstacles.
    Debbie stubbed her cigarette out in the frying pan and walked towards Cecelia. ‘Yeah, right. Now, how much cash you got?’
    Cecelia backed away but was trapped against the worktop, ‘Get away from me.’ she said, ‘I told you, I only came here to talk.’ She edged sideways towards the hall.
    ‘Talk eh? I’ve said all I’ve got to say.’ Debbie moved, blocking the way. ‘You know what I want.’
    Cecelia looked towards the back door but it was bolted. ‘You don’t really believe I’m going to carry large amounts of cash around with me, do you?’ she asked, and reached behind grabbing a saucepan, which she swung in Debbie’s direction, in a vain attempt to get her to move out of the way. Debbie tried to dodge, slipped on some spilled grease and fell back, hitting her head on the oven. She groaned, and then laid still, blood seeping from her head onto the grimy lino.
    The pan clattered to the floor as, horrified at what she’d done, Cecelia stared at her sister. ‘Debbie. Debbie,’ she began to back away. ‘Debbie. Wake-up.’ She knew she ought to feel for a pulse or something but couldn’t bring herself to touch the pudgy flesh so scrabbled through her bag for the phone instead. Then stopped. No-one knew she had gone to the house and there was nothing to link the two of them. Looking down at Debbie, she couldn’t believe how things had turned out, feeling little compassion. She was beginning to understand her family had known what her father had done to her but said nothing. What she had to do now was find a way out of this. For so long she had kept everything completely in check. Now, unless she was careful, it would all be ruined. She looked around the kitchen again; the only thing she’d touched was the pan. She scrubbed the handle with a stained towel and then, to be safe, wiped the edge of the worktop and the door handles, throwing the towel onto a pile of clothes by the front door as she left. Problem solved; with a bit of luck. Back to her perfect life, another secret to keep hidden. Swallowing feelings of guilt, she hurried away to find a taxi, not seeing the face peeping around the grubby net curtain in an upstairs window of the house opposite. Once in the taxi, she dialled Jimmy, but the call went straight to voicemail.
    ‘Jimmy darling. Phone me soon as. Got another little problem.’ But he didn’t call back. He always returned her calls, something must be wrong. She tried again - no answer. She left increasingly panicky messages, twisting the end of her pashmina around continually, staring out at the passing traffic as the taxi crawled back to her world.
    Once in her apartment, she anxiously dialled Jimmy’s number again while checking the landline but she couldn’t reach him. She had to calm down as Anthony would be arriving in a couple of hours. She knew she should be looking forward to seeing him, but all she wanted to do was get away, then she might be able to start putting this behind her. She would have to behave normally so neither Anthony nor his family would know anything was wrong. Cecelia had a long hot shower, letting the water cleanse away the stench of her childhood and began to relax slightly. Perhaps Jimmy had guessed what had happened and was clearing up her mess already. He’d call when it was done.
     Everything was ready for the weekend, so she took her time dressing and was putting on her make-up when the entry phone rang. Pushing the button without speaking, Cecelia briefly wondered why Anthony hadn’t let himself in, but at least he was finally here.
    ‘I’m in the kitchen darling,’ she called as she finished applying her lipstick. Fixing a bright smile on her face she turned towards the door, to see two strange men entering her apartment.
    ‘Who are you? What do you want?’ Cecelia asked in alarm, trying to reach the telephone.
    The older man held up a police badge. ‘DS Thornton and this is DC McCoy. Are you Karen Clements?’
    Cecelia was stunned to hear her real name spoken for the first time in years. ‘My name is Cecelia Connelly. You’ve got the wrong person. Now please leave.’ Turning her back to hide her face, Cecelia decided she would have to brazen it out. She couldn’t believe the police had linked her with Debbie so quickly; after all, the only person who knew she was going there was Jimmy.
    He took out his notebook, flicking through the pages ‘If you’re not Karen Clements I’ll need to see some identification.’
    ‘I’ve told you my name. Now leave, or I will lodge a complaint of harassment with your superiors.’ Cecelia put on her most imperious voice as if she was addressing an incompetent waiter. She heard the lift stopping at her floor and hoped it wasn’t Anthony. Please let him be late for once, she thought.
    ‘We’re investigating an assault on Debbie Clements. I understand you’re her sister and you went to see her this morning.’
    ‘You mean she’s not dead?’ she blurted, just as Anthony stepped into the room.
    ‘Cecelia? What’s going on?’ he asked, looking from her to the policemen and back again. Cecelia sank into a chair, the blood draining from her face as her carefully constructed life crumbled before her eyes.



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