WICKED BABY
by Tara Hanks

Prologue: 1959

My name is Christine. I live in Wraysbury, a village near Staines. I was born in a caravan, made from a railway carriage by my father. It was the only caravan in a village of bungalows.

Wraysbury was a dreary hole the rain had got into. Other girls were jealous of me right from the start. They came from the town. They hid in bushes and shouted insults as I walked downhill to school.

Even as a child I preferred the company of boys. I spent afternoons climbing trees and playing chess. Out in the woods where we lived, there were only boys.

Dad left early. Mum found another man, and he became my stepdad. The caravan grew, and our family with it. We were joined by half-brothers, aunts barely out of school, grandparents and pets. I never thought too much about anything. I looked out of the window and listened to the churchbells ringing.

I was clever at first. I liked arithmetic, but loathed algebra. It was too slow and tricky for me. My stepdad taught me to drive and shoot, and I ran faster than any girl in my year. There was talk of putting me in races against other schools. But mum told me girls don't compete. I lost interest in school after that.

We never missed a thing, so close together. Not a clip round the ear or a hurtful remark missed its target. Knowing about each other didn't help us to understand one another. But we were in it together.

***

I started a paper round on a bike with no brakes. Riding home one night, a man stopped me in an alley. He squeezed my arm and breathed in my ear. His breath stank of homebrew.

"I've been watching you, Christine." I wondered how he knew my name. Perhaps he drank with my stepdad, on Saturdays in the Lion’s Den. "Have you ever seen one of these before?" He got his willy out. It was tiny, shrivelled and purple.

"No" I lied, but I had seen willies in all shapes and sizes. There was no false modesty in our caravan. I knew that willies were there to make babies, but I'd never been asked to do that.

"Touch it." Stupidly I obeyed, and stroked it gingerly. In my heart I knew this was wrong.

He groaned, almost inaudibly.

"Kiss it."

"What did you say?" My ears popped. "What do you mean?" I'd never heard of such a thing.

"Cheeky bloody bitch!" He slapped my face, and dragged me down to his cock.

"Kiss it, you little slag!" I pecked at him as if he were a stern, distant uncle. He prised my mouth open and stuffed himself into me. "Now suck."

I knelt awkwardly while his willy got bigger. He pushed further down to the tip of my tonsil, moaning louder all the time. I washed his willy with my tears. It went stiff. He spurted hotly down my throat. I swallowed it, and he pulled out of me.

"You can go now,” he muttered.

I hurried home, looking back only once. No one was there. I sat quietly in the gloom, feeling hungover although I'd never been drunk. I didn't sleep a wink that night. My dreams weren't my own anymore.

*** In the changing rooms at school, after games, boys stared at my tits. Boys held no mystery, and tits got in the way. It was older men who made the rules, men who held the key to life. I envied the freedom they had. The men I grew up with were shell-shocked from the war. I was underage, and they were just beyond my grasp.

But their mystery was also mine.

I left school as soon as it was legal. Mum signed me up to an employment agency. I worked in a factory, stencilling pictures of glamour girls onto ties; and in an office, taking dictation. I liked being out in the world. Most of all I liked the long, lingering looks men gave me. The attention made me happy, more acceptable to myself. I was photographed in a bikini and appeared in the Christmas issue of Titbits.

I started going out at night, and as my stepdad locked the caravan by ten, I came back less and less. I went to a pub called the Angel, where GIs came to drink. The American soldiers liked me. I drove in a limousine to parties at Langley airbase. I lost my virginity in the backroom of a bookshop in Staines. I survived unscathed, and was sorely disappointed.

Next time it was better. I stayed all night with a GI named Jim. He was hardfaced but sad (his wife didn't understand him). I smoked my first joint, and rested in my lover's strong arms. I soon woke up. The Yankees went home, and I realised that Jim had left me pregnant.

***

Sixteen, and I wished I were far away. If only I could escape. Life was different then. I couldn't withstand the shame of a bastard. My family would disown me and I would be ruined. I couldn't support a child. My child would live in an orphanage, watched over by nuns. I wished it dead.

I tried everything. Castor oil, gin and whiskey, until I blacked out or vomited. I hid in the woods or by the stream, confiding in no one. But it just grew bigger and kicked, a bump for people to talk about.

I had to get rid of it, but I wanted it too. I pushed in a knitting needle, fumbling inside until my waters broke. I wept quietly, without hope.

The baby moved. It started pushing. Nine months, the nurse said. But only six months had passed. "Nine months, just give me nine months. I'm not ready for this yet."

Nobody heard. I couldn't cry; someone might hear me. Dull, heavy backache turned into a sharp, searing pain that came and went. The afternoon sun gave way to storms, beating down on our roof.

"Mum!" I cried.

An angry baby's howl drowned out my screams. He was hunched up and soaked in my blood. I grabbed hold of him as he reached out, fighting for air.

Mum ran in, shrieked "What have you done? Why didn't you tell me?" She got on the bike with no brakes and fetched the doctor. He took me away and put me to bed.

My son died in hospital. I named him James Peter Keeler. And still I didn't sleep.

© Tara Hanks
Reproduced with permission

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MORE OF TARA'S LITERARY INFLUENCES:

EMILY BRONTË

Click image for an overview of Emily Bronte on the Victorian Web site; to visit The Bronte Sisters Web, click here or for related books on Amazon, click here

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GORDON BURN

Click image to read 'After the Flood' - Gordon Burn's article on modern American literature on the Guardian Unlimited website; for Peter Wild's interview with Burn on the Book Munch website, click here or for related books on Amazon, click here

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SIDONIE-GABRIELLE COLETTE

Click image for a biography and bibliography of Colette on the Lesbians in the Arts website; for a selection of links relating to Colette on the Bedford St Martins website, click here or for related books on Amazon, click here

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CAROL ANN DUFFY

Click image for a profile of Duffy on the British Council's Contemporary Writers website; for a selection of reviews, online poems and interviews, click here or for related books on Amazon, click here

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ARTHUR GOLDEN

Click image for an interview with Golden on the Random House Behind the Books site; for a profile of Golden on the BBC Books website, click here or for related books on Amazon, click here

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PATRICK HAMILTON

Click image for Dan Rhodes review of Hamilton's novel, 'The Midnight Bell' on the Guardian Review website; for a profile of Hamilton on the Books and Writers website, click here or for related books on Amazon, click here

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HARPER LEE

Click image to visit the To Kill a Mockingbird and Harper Lee website; for Dry Land, an unofficial Harper Lee website, click here or for related books on Amazon, click here

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ALBERTO MORAVIA

Click image for Moravia biography, bibliography and reviews on the Literary Moose website; for Tina Kaszinski's profile of Moravia, click here or for related books on Amazon, click here

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DONNA TARTT

Click image to visit Purple Glitter - the Donna Tartt Shrine; for Robert Birnbaum's interview with Tartt on the Identity Theory website, click here or for related books on Amazon, click here

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JOANNA TRAYNOR

Click image to read Ann Skea's review of Traynor's novel, 'Sister Josephine' on the Eclectica website; for a short biography and bibliography of Traynor on the Bloomsbury website, click here or for related books on Amazon, click here

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TENNESSEE WILLIAMS

Click image for a profile of Williams on the Mississippi Writers Page website; for a short profile of Williams on the Remember website, click here or for related books on Amazon, click here

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EMILE ZOLA

Click image for selection of Zola related links on the Who 2 website; to read an extract from Zola's 'Germinal' on the Washington State University website, click here or for related books on Amazon, click here

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