When Darren came into my mother's life in 1972, I think she seized the opportunity to introduce into our home what she hoped would be a controlling influence. I had just turned 15 and had started to mess with boys, which I think she knew, or at least strongly suspected. My brother, Toby, and I were also becoming petulant and unruly ... just the sort of kids that they make documentaries about these days!
Darren was about ten years older than her at 45, a still fit, ruggedly handsome, strong, self-confident army corporal, a London East End lad who'd made the army his career. And he was extremely sexy in a burly, almost thuggish way. I remember being attracted to him immediately but I tried hard to put these feelings out of my mind, just happy that my mother had met someone so handsome and charismatic, and yes, having someone that sexy whom I could show off to friends as my mother's boyfriend, possibly my next dad, thrilled me as well! I even put aside those pangs of jealousy when they were first dating and I'd hear the muffled sounds of their lovemaking from my bedroom at night.
They married after just three months, and Toby and I were really happy about it. Our own dad had moved away to Australia, and we welcomed having a man around again. Many years later she confided in me that all she really wanted from Darren was the sex and the controlling hand on the family. She never really loved him and I always like to believe that I suspected that.
Darren was strict with us and it began to work. I went out less at night, tried to be a little less flighty, and we certainly never played our mother up again, and never have since. That change lasted with Toby but with me, it started to slip again after about eighteen months. Darren was very different dealing with me than with my brother. Although his exterior was stern, his eyes showed something else, almost a conspiratorial interest in my behaviour. I started to flirt outrageously with boys again, and they were getting older and older.
But also, my repressed lust for Darren was subordinated into a deliberate action of my part to seduce men and I was no longer interested in boys. One night, when I had only just turned 18, I met a 25 year-old private from Dad's and I pulled every trick in the book and was successful: we had sex in the back of his car. It was actually a little disappointing because it was a cold night and very cramped in his car, and I soon forgot about it. For about a week and a half, anyway!
Then, one afternoon, I came home from school early, skipping a couple of classes because I wanted to go into Southampton to meet a guy who I'd met at a club recently. I'd forgotten that it was Darren's afternoon off and he was already there, in the garden, cutting a hedge. I thought momentarily that he looked angry but when he saw me he smiled, perhaps a little deliberately, and grunted a greeting to me, saying he was nearly finished and he'd see me inside. I thought little more of it, having my mission in mind, and went back inside to work out how I was going to con him into letting me go out when I was officially being punished.
I went up to my room and changed into just a pair of shorts and a tee shirt, intending to return and change once I'd wound him round my little finger. Little did I know what was going to follow.
When I came back down, humming happily to myself, having decided on a story, Darren was sitting in the living room, sprawled on the sofa. It didn't occur to me that he wasn't reading or watching TV, he was just sitting, watching me come down the stairs. I merrily wafted into the kitchen to make us a coffee. I was waiting for the water to boil when I realized he'd come through and was standing there. I remember thinking how sexy he looked in his tiny tight army issue shorts and an army vest, thighs and arms as strong as ever. His chest was even more impressive, and I remember noticing his hard nipples showing under the vest. I can't recall now what I started to say but I know it was light, flirtatious and designed to loosen him up. Suddenly I heard him saying: "I just want to know, Louise, what you were doing a week ago last Saturday evening?"
My memory responded like lightning and I spun round and must have looked shocked and guilty. For once I hadn't got a smart answer and just stared.
"So it's true?!"
"What ... what's true?"
"You know, Louise ... you fuckin' know!" he said in a cool, calm voice, moving closer and grabbing my forearm in his big fist. It didn't hurt. His grip was just massive and firm, totally controlling.
I must have flinched and backed away because he said: "I'm not going to hurt you, Lou. I just want to hear you say it."
"Say what, Darren...say what?" I was already beginning to recover fast and my mind was already working on a story. I just needed a delay, about a minute would do.
But then: "Tell me that you fucked Terry Falconer ... in his car ... in the car park ... in the fucking public car park!" His voice sounded bitter, disappointed. "Go on, Lou, tell me!"
He knew too much! There was no way I was going to get out of this.
"How .....?"
"How do I know? How do I fucking know? Because that cunt can't keep his friggin' mouth shut and he only told half the barracks when he was pissed last night! That's how I got to hear, second-hand from some fuckin' squaddie!"
The anger had welled up momentarily but now he brought it under control. His voice was calm again. "Louise ... how old are you? Eighteen! God, hrdly more than a girl"
He pushed me back firmly against the counter and he was just inches from me. I could smell his delicious musk, could almost feel his gorgeous body heat and I was looking into those eyes that were normally so playful but were now flashing with anger.
"God, Louise, your mother is so worried about you and I always defend you. I honestly felt that the worst could be fumbling with kids from school. But going out and deliberately fucking men! Why, Louise.... why?" And I saw the genuine hurt in them and that was an arrow that went direct to my heart.
"Sorry, Darren," I whispered.
