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The incident with Mike marked a turning point for Angel. She still had little idea of the truth
but the fact that things were not as they seemed had been brought home to her by a boy
of whom she was once fond and perhaps still was. Angel could see there was nothing
simple about what happened. The two boys had planned their actions. Lizzie had said that
Peter had stood in the corridor as a lookout though, whatever Lizzie said, Angel was sure
she had never been in any danger of being raped. Lizzie was just not the type to let that
happen. What was it she had said that Peter said? At the front they kill women. Which
women? No acquaintances of Angel's for sure. What could Angel do? Though her body mended quickly her mind was rent by the violent confrontation. She wished desperately that no one should ever discover what had happened and, at the same time, she had to find out why. To whom could she turn? Her parents were long gone. Elizabeth? 'Angel, I think we've said too much about it already. I don't think we should discuss what happened any more. It's better that we don't, that's all. We should form our own conclusions and shouldn't share them.' Angel was really upset by Elizabeth's attitude. Suddenly she became cold and distant and Angel wasn't to know it was because she was having bad dreams about her father being imprisoned and herself conditioned. There was only one other person that Angel could turn to and that was her assailant himself. She had thought he might be at her parent's Christmas Party but, though his parents came, Mike did not. 'He's very sick,' the said. 'He's been ill for a week or more.' Fearing prosecution, Mike had run. At his father's house he awaited the inevitable descent of wrath and the social ruin of his family. What happened was the last thing he expected: Angel visited him after Christmas. 'Here's Mike' said the father. Angel was seated between his parents when Mike entered. He appeared ill and the sight of Angel was almost more than he could bear. 'He hasn't been well the last few days, have you, Mike? Some illness he picked up at the front, I expect.' The father had been in the last War and he dimly remembered it and the fact that he, too, was often unwell when he was at home. 'Here's a visitor for you, Mike.' The father smiled inanely as did his wife. This was, after all, the daughter of the highest official in the land. They made polite conversation. This was often demanded of Angel and she did not enjoy it. The siblings of the great are frequently dull, flabby people concerned most with protecting that person who has dominated their lives since birth but Angel did not want to be like that. She wanted to be independent of her father and was unconcerned that her behavior might reflect upon him. Finally Angel was alone with Mike in the garden. They walked across a rock garden and a green, formal lawn. At the far end was a screen of spruce and beyond a cultivated woodland. She said, 'I want to know why you did it, Mike. There was no need to hurt me was there?' As they climbed a wooded bank Mike stopped by a tree. His teeth were clenched and his fists were knotted against the bark. 'I'd do it again, you understand? I'm not sorry, I'm not!' He hugged the tree tightly as if he would crush it's heart. 'You're not the first and you deserve it more than those poor rotting bastards out there. You especially, the virgin daughter of the government! I'm only sorry I was too drunk to do it properly. Even with a city whore I'm a coward. I should have killed you. You deserve to die. I only wish I had the courage.' He collapsed, singing to the turf and Angel kneeled before him. 'It's true what Peter said then, about the women?' 'Men, women, they have no chance. The only thing that keeps them alive are the shortages of fuel and ammunition but there's no hurry, if the bombs don't get them the winter will.' 'But who are these people? I don't know anyone like that and besides officers get killed too.' 'Nobody dies unless they volunteer. They do it for kicks or because they've just had enough. I've done it myself. The poor bastards have no weapons and they die like flies. That's why they're there.' Mike began to cry and refused to any more of Angel's question and, eventually, she walked back to the house alone. 'Where's Mike?' said the father. 'He'll be in soon.' 'Had a fight?' Angel nodded. 'Then you'll be going?' The man seemed disappointed as she left. |
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