Revenge

In the bluebell wood it was always cool and damp. The den, hidden by thick shrubs, was just far enough from the path to the old house to give a perfect view without ever being discovered. Passers-by often glanced at the dense, glossy leaves of the rhododendron bushes, perhaps sensing the four pairs of eyes within, but the lush green walls were reassuringly inhuman. No one ever looked twice.

Katie was meeting the sisters to look at Margaret's breasts. The Doherty girls had extra homework so Katie waited alone in the den, lying on her back to watch the disappearing spring sunshine through the canopy of trees. She did not mind being on her own. Growing up without brothers and sisters had taught Katie the self-sufficiency of daydreams, but she was pleased by the noisy arrival of Margaret, Anne and Frances. Margaret, the eldest, was wearing a smug expression and Katie wondered if she had remembered her promise. She was eleven, a year older than Katie, and was already getting wolf-whistles. She had thick blonde hair and full, soft lips with which she had taught Katie how to kiss. Once, when Anne and Frances were not looking, they had pricked their forefingers with a razorblade stolen from Katie's father, and pressed the bloody wounds together.

"There now - you're my sister too," Margaret had whispered. "More of a sister than them." She nodded over at where Anne and Frances were catching caterpillars in a matchbox. "You're my blood sister," she told Katie, her eyes shining.

Margaret threw herself down on the old tartan blanket with a sigh. Anne was on all fours, as usual, pretending to be a horse or a dog, and Katie noticed that little Frances' eyes were red.

"The bastard!" complained Margaret. "That bloody bastard made me do my maths all over again - and he's given Frances another strapping."

Frances sniffed and smiled at Katie.

"Bloody bastard!" she said proudly, rubbing her fat bottom.

Katie tutted sympathetically.

"Let's have a look," she said, and Frances happily pulled down her shorts to reveal four red weals across her dimpled buttocks.

"Gosh!" Katie looked at the marks. "Did he do it on your bare skin?"

Frances nodded.

"He made me bend over the bed and pull my knickers right down."

Margaret snorted.

"Huh! You were lucky - at least he used the soft end of the belt. I always get the buckle!"

Katie cringed but felt a little stabbing thrill deep in her stomach. Whenever she visited the sisters' house she eyed the thick belt around their father's ample waist. Mr Doherty often appeared in Katie's daydreams, wielding his belt and grabbing at her pants, before her own father emerged at the last minute to rescue her.

"Well," said Margaret, "what shall we do tonight?"

Katie wondered if she was pretending to have forgotten. Margaret liked to keep people in suspense. Anne was jumping around on her hands and knees, whinnying and pawing the ground.

"Look at me! I'm a Palomino."

Margaret aimed a vicious kick at her flank.

"For God's sake - cut that out will you!" She tried to grab her sister's hair but Anne was already galloping off into the undergrowth.

"She's driving me up the bloody wall," sighed Margaret, lying down and stretching her arms over her head so that her T-shirt rose temptingly above her cut-off jeans.

"Oh I'm so bored," she moaned. "What shall we do?"

Katie waited for a moment, trying not to sound too eager.

"I thought you were going to show us, Margaret," she ventured.

Margaret raised her head in feigned innocence.

"Show you what?"

Frances giggled.

"You know." Katie was embarassed. "Your - your bust."

Margaret sighed wearily.

"Oh yes - I'd forgotten. We-ell, I s'pose so." She sat up, brushed her hair back and smiled at Katie. "Mum's going to buy me a bra next week."

Katie breathed admiration.

"Well then - " Margaret sat forward on her knees, forced back her shoulders and looked down, pulling the front of her baggy white T-shirt tight over the points of her breasts. Then she cupped one mound gently underneath.

"See? What do you think?"

Katie could barely conceal her disappointment.

"Gosh," she managed, before her impatience got the better of her. "Well, you can't see that much actually. I thought - I thought you were going to, well, you know - show us properly."

"I've seen!" sang Frances. "I've seen her in the bath!"

Margaret gave her a withering look and then glanced slyly at Katie.

"Well," she said. "Okay, but don't tell anyone."

Katie shook her head vehemently, and when Margaret pulled up her T-shirt she almost gasped at the transformation, not at the soft curves which she had already felt, pressed close to Margaret as they kissed, but at the new, swollen pink nipples. Katie was just about to think of an excuse for getting rid of Frances when there was a tumultous crashing of bracken and Anne fell panting onto the blanket.

"Quick!" she cried breathlessly. "Come quick!"

Frances slipped her hand into Katie's as they ran through the woods, her short, fat legs struggling to keep up with the older girls and dragging Katie back.

"Come on!" Katie hissed, but already Margaret and Anne had stopped far ahead and were peeping through the trees into the clearing beyond. Margaret had one hand over her mouth as if she was going to be sick.

"Oh Jesus!" she whispered as Katie reached them. "Will you look at that!"

In the middle of the glade stood two boys, each with a handful of stones which they were hurling at the trunk of an oak tree. On the trunk was nailed a baby thrush, its wings pinned in crucifixion. Its head twisted and jerked as it let out shrill, rhythmic cries. Anne hung on her elder sisiter's arm.

"Come on!" she whispered urgently. "Do something!"

But Margaret held her back.

"Wait!"

Anne pulled at Katie's arm

"Come on! There's four of us - come on, Katie."

Katie hesitated and looked at Margaret who was peering at the boys.

"No, wait will you. Look - they're going."

The boys, growing bored now that the thrush had stopped moving, began to wander off towards the big house. One of them turned, aimed a last stone at the bird and whooped with delight.

"Skill! Did you see that?" He jumped on to the other boy's back and wrestled him to the ground. They rolled around, squashing the bluebells for a while, and then the bigger boy jumped up.

"Race you to the gate!"

The girls crept quietly out of the undergrowth. Slowly they approached the tree in single file, Margaret leading, but they stopped some feet away from where the bird hung, its head bent on its chest.

"Is it dead?" whispered Anne. "Have they killed it?"

Margaret took a step closer and then looked around her for a stick. Tentatively she leaned forward and prodded the thrush very gently. It managed to raise its scrawny head and Katie thought the bird looked straight at her before giving a little choked cough. Blood poured out of its beak. Frances screamed, and Margaret turned her head away.

"Oh come on," she said hurriedly. "Let's go - it's had it anyway."

In bed that night Katie kept seeing the thrush's beady eyes. She wished that they had killed it. That would have been the right thing to do, what you were supposed to do with animals in pain. Once she had watched her father kill a sick rabbit that they had seen in the countryside. He had insisted on stopping the car, and told Katie not to look, but she could not help peeping as he raised his big shoe over the quivering animal. She had even glanced at the body afterwards, its red and white entrails oozing out of the split skin like a piece of squashed fruit and she had watched her father clean his shoe on a clump of grass, streaking the ground with dark blood. Katie wondered if the thrush was still alive. In her mind she took her father back to the glade where he knocked the boys' heads together and rescued the little bird, giving it to Katie for a pet.

"I've got a plan," Margaret told them. "I know how we're going to get those bloody bastards and make them sorry."

They were sitting in the den trying to roast potatoes on a tiny fire.

"Not both of them at once - but we can get one of them easy," explained Margaret. Katie prodded a potato hopefully, but it was still as hard as it had been in the kitchen. Privately she was rather scared by the idea of avenging the murder of the thrush, but Anne and Frances were excited.

"Oh yes!" shrieked Anne, rearing on hind legs. "Four on to one - that'll show them. How, Mags, how?"

"Sshhh." Margaret put a finger to her lips and they all listened to the rapid footsteps on the gravel path. Four pairs of eyes watched, for the third time that evening, as the bigger boy raced past the den, shortly followed by his panting, red-haired friend. As they disappeared Margaret turned to the others with a superior smile.

"You see that?" she said. "Now listen carefully."

Katie and Frances sat in the den grasping one end of the rusty wire. Katie could not see Margaret and Anne but frequent jerks of the wire reassured her that they were still at the other end, hidden behind the bushes on the opposite side of the path. Katie ran through Margaret's instructions again, wishing that she had not been lumbered with little Frances who was sure to forget what to do, or lose her nerve, or giggle at the wrong moment.

"What are we going to do to him?" whispered Frances. "When we've got him - what are we going to do?"

"Sshh - punish him," replied Katie vaguely, keeping her eyes on the path.

"Will we kill him?" Frances' eyes were wide. "Kill him dead, Katie?"

Katie wished that Frances was not there. She could feel a tingling between her legs and squeezed her thighs together hard.

"Oh no," she told the smaller girl. "Nothing like that - we're just going to make him sorry."

It had begun to grow dark and Katie had cramp. She knew her mother would be starting to worry and she thought of shouting to Margaret and Anne, telling them to call the whole thing off. She rubbed her leg and brushed the midges from her hair and then, just as she was about to tell Frances to drop the wire, she heard the frantic footsteps. Katie's heart started to thump. She looked back at Frances' round eyes and tightened the grip of both her hands on the wire.

"Ready?" she whispered. "Remember, don't pull until you hear Margaret."

Frances nodded gravely. Katie turned back to the path and saw the big boy hurtling towards them. He skidded briefly around the bend but quickly regained his balance and shot past. He was out of sight by the time the smaller boy came running up behind in red-faced pursuit. Katie just had time for a moment's panic, to think that Margaret had surely left it too late, when she heard the shout and pulled as hard as she could, the wire cutting into her hands as she fell backwards over little Frances.

She did not see the boy smash to the ground with his animal yelp and she could hardly believe it had worked. Then she heard Margaret calling her name, and she was running to where the sisters stood over the body. He was only momentarily stunned and it was not long before he recovered, kicking and lashing out with his arms.

"Get a leg each!" cried Margaret. "Sit on his chest, Anne!"

Anne was barking madly like a boisterous puppy and she leapt on to the boy's chest, growling enthusiastically. Margaret deftly slipped a length of wire around the boy's throat and pulled it tight so that his head jerked back suddenly with a rasping little cry.

"Now don't you move, you bastard, or I'll strangle you!" Margaret tweaked the wire in demonstration and the boy stopped his struggling and lay breathing hard.

"Right, girls. Get him in the den."

With Margaret holding the wire noose around his neck they lifted him easily, for he was a skinny boy, not much bigger than Katie. As they laid him on the floor of the den they heard the sound of footsteps coming back up the path.

"Mickey! C'mon - where are you? Aw, Mickey, c'mon mate!"

Margaret tightened the wire around Mickey's neck.

"Not a word!" she hissed. "One word and you've had it."

Silently they watched the big boy march up the path, kicking at the gravel.

"Mickeee!"

He turned and stared into the undergrowth for a moment and Katie's heart seemed to stop as he screwed up his eyes. But then he sauntered off with a shrug, hands in his pockets, and his shouts faded into the distance.

"Okay," said Margaret. "Okay, Mickey." She savoured his name slowly.

The boy's face was pale beneath his freckles and his voice came out in a squeak.

"L - let me go."

"Let me go - what?" demanded Margaret.

"Please," squeaked Mickey. "Let me go please."

"No!" Margaret burst out laughing and winked at Katie. "Not until we've finished with you, you bastard. You're going to be really sorry."

"Beat him!" squealed Frances. "Beat him like Dad does!"

"Yeah!" Anne shouted. "You're going to be sorry, you bird murderer!"

She bared her teeth and gave a low growl before dropping on to all fours and sniffing at the bottom of the boy's trousers.

"Fucking hell!" cried Mickey, wriggling away from Anne's snuffling head. "What's up with her?" He looked around wildly.

"Oh, she thinks she's a rottweiller," Margaret explained. "Unfortunately for you," she added casually as Anne suddenly snarled and sank her teeth into Mickey's ankle, hanging on with clenched jaws as the boy shook his leg and yelled.

"For God's sake! It weren't me! It weren't - honest - it were Pete, not me."

"Huh." Margaret sneered. "We saw you, actually. Actually we all saw you doing it - so shut your face." She squeezed the wire again and Mickey choked. Margaret smiled.

"Trousers, Katie," she ordered.

"Nooo!" Mickey resumed his struggling but Margaret pulled the wire tighter.

"Silence, bastard!"

Katie could see red lines on the boy's neck. She took a deep breath and, crouching at Mickey's side, bent over the flies of his jeans, struggling with the button and sliding down the zip. She glanced up at the boy's face which was beginning to flush angrily to the roots of his ginger hair. Slowly Katie eased the jeans over his thin hips, sniffing the unfamiliar, slightly rancid smell, and then pulled to expose his hairless thighs. Mickey looked as though he were about to cry. He closed his eyes as the girls regarded the stains on his blue nylon underpants.

"Pants, Katie," said Margaret.

The boy groaned and Katie hesitated, eyeing the bulge between his legs. At home, by the bathroom door, she had often tried to peep in at her father, but she had only ever seen his head and shoulders over the top of the bath. Suddenly Katie no longer wanted to know, but Margaret was fixing her with an imperious glare. To back out now would mean weeks of retribution. She adjusted her position and, kneeling, took a firm hold of each side of the nylon pants. She looked up at Margaret.

"Ready?" she managed.

Margaret nodded.

"Get 'em off!" roared Anne.

Katie closed her eyes and clumsily ripped down the pants, feeling her hand brush against something sickeningly soft and snakey. There was a loud scream behind her and she turned to see Margaret's face crumpling. Margaret screamed again, and then Anne screamed too, and Frances shrieked, and as Katie looked down the sisters shot out of the den and charged off through the woods. As the boy began to move Katie stopped staring and somehow remembered how to work her jellied legs. Then she threw herself after the sisters, stumbling and ripping her clothes on branches as she tore through the trees.

"Wait!" she heared herself crying. "Wait for meee!"

When Katie reached the big gates the girls were slumped in a heap against the wall, panting. Katie fell onto Margaret, breathing in her sweet warmth.

"Yuk!" said Margaret. "Oh yuk, that was really disgusting!"

"Yak!" agreed Frances. "Bleeahh!"

When Katie found enough breath to speak she turned to Margaret.

"Are they - are they all like that?"

"Like what?" Margaret sounded angry but Katie had to know.

"You know - like - like worms and boils and guts leaking out and......"

"Shut up!" Margaret put her fingers in her ears. "Oh yuk! I feel really sick." She pushed Katie roughly away and lay staring silently at the sky.

Anne trotted up.

"Look at me - I'm a stallion with a great big - "

"Shut up!" Margaret grabbed Anne by the hair and punched her hard. Then she stalked off down the road. Katie knew it was no good trying to follow her. No one could speak to Margaret when she was in one of her moods.

"C'mon," she said to the younger girls. "You'd better go home."

She gave them a little push in the direction of Margaret's retreating figure. "See you tomorrow."

For a moment Katie paused and looked at her watch. She was going to have to think of a good excuse to tell her father. Katie glanced back at the dark trees. She did not think she would tell him about Mickey. Katie did not want to think about Mickey ever again.

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