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free of him Carrie rolled over on to her stomach and pulled her dress down. Then she realised she was without her knickers. Oh, God, oh, God, help me. He’d done it to her, Alec Sutton had taken her down. What would her mam and da say?
     
    ‘Carrie?’ It was tentative, but when she scrambled as far away as she could get before she turned to face him, his tone changed. His voice was rough as he said, ‘Don’t look at me like that, you wanted it same as me.’
     
    She was shaking from head to foot as she sat staring at him, her teeth chattering so much she found it difficult to speak. ‘I didn’t, you know I didn’t.’
     
    ‘Look, the first time is always . . . Well . . .’ He rubbed his hand across his mouth as he got to his feet, glancing down at the torn remnants of her underclothes before he said again, ‘You wanted it.’
     
    ‘Stay away from me.’
     
    The shrillness of her voice as he made a move towards her brought him to a halt, but now there was real aggression in his manner when he ground out, ‘Don’t come this lark, not with me. You can’t lead a man on and then leave him nowhere. Look, no one need know.’ He reached down and before she could blink he had thrown her knickers on to the fire where they flared briefly before being consumed by the flames. ‘There, it’s done with. Let that be an end to it.’
     
    An end to it? He had . . . Had he said an end to it? Was he mad? Carrie struggled to her feet, nausea and dizziness making the room swim. She watched him gather the mugs and gin bottle and disappear into the scullery again.
     
    She was still standing in exactly the same spot when he returned, and as he glanced at her white face and stricken eyes his voice was softer, with a wheedling note. ‘Look, it’s done now, lass, so don’t take on--’ And then he froze, his head turning towards the scullery as the sound of voices reached them. ‘Quick, out, it’s me mam.’
     
    Before she knew it Carrie found herself in the street with the front door closing against her, vaguely aware that he had pushed her out of the house after thrusting her coat into her hands. She stood, swaying slightly and making no attempt to put her coat on in spite of the raw east wind. He’d said she’d led him on, that she’d wanted him to do that to her but she hadn’t, she hadn’t. She stared down the dark street, her eyes dry but burning. She had wanted him to kiss her but not the rest of it, and he must have known. She had fought him, hadn’t she, struggled, tried to call out? How could he have imagined she wanted him to do it then?
     
    She began to walk, still holding her coat against her chest. When she reached the junction with Collingwood Street, she left the main road and skirted round to the narrow track running at the back of the houses. She needed to get to her backyard and go to the privy, she told herself numbly, waves of nausea making her feel faint. If she just kept putting one foot in front of the other she could get there and slide the bolt and be safe.
     
    The odd flake of snow was spinning in the icy wind; the biting cold and black night was all part and parcel of the desolation which had claimed her. Her father didn’t like her walking the back lane once it was dark, but tonight any shred of nervousness was gone. Nothing could be worse than what had already happened. She stumbled along, and it wasn’t until she was almost home that she thought to pull on her coat, shrugging it on with hands that were frozen and had little feeling.
     
    She had only taken one step into the backyard when the sickness claimed her, wave upon wave of retching culminating in an attack of vomiting which left her kneeling on the flagstones utterly spent, tears streaming down her face.
     
    ‘Carrie? Carrie, lass, get up. Come on.’
     
    When David’s voice sounded above her head she made no effort to move, and kept her eyes tightly shut. They would say she was bad now if anyone found out, a loose bit