They helped install me in the flat, waited for me to make the statutory cup of tea to christen the place, then drove home, tearfully in my mother’s case, leaving me with a couple of days to sort myself out before ‘Fresher’s Week’ at college. I sat down in my new flat, a quiet place in a side road just off Albert Road in Primrose Hill, an area destined to become spectacularly expensive, and which my father made a fortune speculating on. As with most first floor London flats of the type, there was a living room at the front, a kitchen behind, followed by a bathroom and small bedroom, with the main bedroom being up further stairs in the converted attic area. I’d made a promise to myself, which I intended to keep, that I’d leave my past behind me in Walsall, and try to start living my life again at college, figuring that no one would want to hang out with a moper. As I sat in my lounge that first night, unpacking the records and tapes I’d bought down, listening to Bob Marley’s ‘legend’. He’s barefoot, wearing only jeans and a white t-shirt spread across his broad shoulders. He turns to face us.“Who the fuck are you?” Sarah shrieks at him.“Don’t talk to me like that!” He shouts, striding over to her. His voice is deep and brusque, “Lay back down.”“Who do you think you are?” She snaps defiantly. In one swift movement, he pushes her down on the mattress and sits astride her hips. She struggles against him as he leans down and hisses something in her ear. Her body goes limp.Anger rises within me as he says to her, “Now you are a pretty little fucking thing, aren’t you?” She frowns up at him as he starts to roughly fondle her body.“Stop it!” I yell, “Don’t touch her!”He pauses. I wait for a moment before he raises his hand and strikes her across the face. He turns to me, “Don’t say anything.”Sarah gasps in shock and whimpers but makes no attempt to fight him. He reaches below her back and undoes her bra, dragging it from her shoulders then tossing it aside. He grabs at.
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