Page 36 of The Women at Ocean's End

‘I wasn’t running from anyone,’ Dotty said and she dropped Constance’s hand. How could her friend understand what had just happened? How could she explain it to anyone, it was just too disgusting to put into words. Even thinking of it made her feel as if she was somehow… dirty.

‘Well, you were running as if the devil himself was on your heels.’

‘Ha ha, very funny.’ Dotty dropped to the blanket she’d spread across the floor of the little shed. ‘You’ll have to tell me all about your holidays, I’m mad with jealousy,’ she said, pulling Constance down next to her. Anything to take her mind off what had just happened in the kitchen with her father, or what might have happened if it wasn’t for that cat.

‘Dotty.’ Her father’s loud knock on the door sounded like an earthquake tremor rumbling against her heart. She grabbed Constance, pulled the old rug over them both to hide. It was disgusting, smelled of mould and earth and something sour, but it was better than being found. Then, as if her guardian angel was standing over them, her father moved away and she heard his footsteps, moving along the path.

‘Mr Wren.’ Constance fought her way out from under the rug. She looked from the door to Dotty.

‘Shh.’ Dotty pulled her over, covered her mouth roughly. ‘Don’t say a word.’

‘Is it a game, do you mean we have to hide?’ She began to giggle. Oh, God, he would definitely hear them now.

‘It’s not a game, Constance, he’s…’ Dotty whispered but she couldn’t think how to put it into words. ‘He tried to do things…’ And even just admitting that much felt like it opened up a fault line in her.

‘What sort of things?’ Constance was too stupid to understand, or maybe she was just lucky.

‘Like Sister Mary Benildus says, you know, with a boy, but it’s not meant to be until you’re married and it’s not meant to be with your…’ That was it, she started to cry, hungry tears stealing away the last dredges of her resolve. Within seconds her body was overcome with sobbing that threatened to choke her. ‘You know…’

‘You’re saying…’ Constance couldn’t quite get a grip on it, but Dotty watched as her expression gave way to understanding of some sort. ‘Grown-up things?’ She waited for a second. ‘Sinful things?’

‘So, now you know.’Oh, God. Now what?

And then Constance shook her head, pulled the smelly rug over both of them.

‘I’ll help you, Dot, don’t worry, I’ll help you,’ Constance whispered.

A second later, Dotty’s father pushed the door in easily. ‘There you are, I want you at home now,’ he said in a voice she hardly recognised.

‘I’m not going.’ Dotty’s voice wobbled. ‘I’m not, what you did, that day, it was wrong, what you want is a mortal sin and I’m not going home… not for that, not ever…’

‘Silly girl,’ he said and then he caught sight of Constance. ‘What nonsense to talk, has she been filling your head with nonsense too?’

‘Dotty never talks nonsense, Mr Wren, she’s…’ Constance’s voice was as thin as paper, but her eyes were defiant.

‘Don’t tell me you’re as bad as she is,’ he said and then he took a careful step back outside the shed, looking around as if to check if anyone was about. ‘I’m not having this, Dotty, you’re coming with me now and you’ll do as you’re told.’ He reached down and grabbed her arm, pulling her to her feet and dragging her out the door while she screamed and writhed behind him.

‘No, no, no, no.’ She was hysterical now, hardly able to see straight, fear ripping through any bravery she’d ever managed to store up in reserve.

‘NO! Mr Wren, no, you’re hurting her, can’t you see?’ Constance was crying and racing along beside them, holding onto Dotty for dear life. ‘No, I won’t let you…’ Then in a move that surprised all of them, probably Constance herself more than any of them, she moved forward, planting herself before them.

‘Out of my way, you silly child.’ He reached out an arm as if to swipe at Constance.

‘NO!’ With a deafening screech, loud enough to waken the dead, let alone the neighbours, Constance was on him, knocking him off balance. In the confusion, Dotty fell backwards, shocked at the savagery of her normally placid friend. ‘Run, Dotty, run,’ Constance called to Dotty, while she railed at him, thumping his chest, attacking him like a mad thing.

In this surreal moment, as Dotty sat on the ground, slightly dazed, watching Constance, it dawned on her that this anger was coming from so much more than just saving her best friend. Her dad was getting every beating that Constance had never been brave enough to give to Lickey Gillespie and his friends. It was the ultimate retort to every time the nuns made her feel small because she had no father. It was all that anger, coming flooding out of her in one furious ball.

‘Constance Macken. Stop it, this minute, stop it.’ Mr Wren tried to fend her off, but she was livid, beside herself with rage and fear, and Dotty doubted she could stop even if she wanted to. Constance pummelled his chest, kicking and lashing until he managed to manhandle her and push her to arm’s length, then she bit and flailed until they were at the rim of the old well. Suddenly, he grabbed her and lifted her as if she was nothing more substantial than a rag doll he might throw aside.

Dotty would never know how or what propelled her, but she ran at him. Felt her legs drive her towards him with no plan in mind but to save Constance. Her father was about to drag her to the well, Dotty was certain of it. She pulled Constance back, lying with her weight against her to haul her to the ground. Sheer gravity worked in their favour and her father lost balance and before she knew what was happening, she watched as Constance turned, threw herself against him, so he bent in two, before falling backwards. Another push – Dotty this time – making him sway uncertainly. His left foot tripped up the right as he went back, back and to the edge of the well.

Dotty knew what was going to happen; a premonition, just moments in advance. If the well hadn’t been there, her father would have fallen on his backside, but as it was, he didn’t realise it and maybe he’d expected to feel the earth save him. In those moments it was shocking and grotesque, even if some remote part of her knew she could stop it. She pulled away, as she glimpsed a thin white shiny shin; long dark hairs, exposed for one awful moment so intense she could convince herself later that she had seen each individual hair from root to tip. Then his eyes, bulging out in his face, as if the whites had grown too large for his sockets; wide, registering what was happening, as they glided past her into the dark of the well. Did he scream or shout or call for help? She couldn’t remember. All she remembered was the sound of him falling and a horrible crunching splashing noise when he reached the bottom.

‘Oh God,’ Constance whimpered. What on earth had they done? Her face was chalky white, and Dotty thought she might faint, but she gasped for air for what felt like a long while with her eyes pinned on the blackness of the well beneath them. ‘Oh, Dotty, what have we done?’

Dotty knew her father was dead and, if he wasn’t, he would have drowned in the water that surely lay several feet deep at the bottom of the well by the time any rescue got to him.

‘Can he swim?’

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