The following afternoon, Trampler hung around the County Line waiting for Clara to finish her shift. Eventually, he saw her emerge with Angela and Lily, then say goodbye to her friends and walk down Hunter Street. Once Angela and Lily were out of sight, Trampler began to follow Clara. She was already some way ahead of him, and he had to look around for some time before catching sight of her curly red hair. He did his best to remain discrete as he followed her, something he always found very hard. He saw her turn into the apartment block at the end of Hunter Street, waited until she was well up the stairs before creeping inside and began to climb up on tiptoe, trying to remain close enough to see Clara, but not so close that she could detect his presence. He had just reached the second-floor landing when he saw Clara disappearing through the door of her apartment.
Clara was in the kitchen and had just taken a packet of meatballs out of the fridge when she heard someone banging roughly on her door and shouting out loud:
"Open the fucking door!".
She was shocked: no one had ever announced themselves so rudely before. Nervously she made her way to the door and opened it: she was astonished to see Dave Trampler standing on her threshold, scowling.
"Where's the fucking bedroom, bitch?", he demanded.
Clara, dumbfounded, pointed to it. She moved aside, expecting him to march past her into the bedroom, but instead he glared at her.
"Get in the bedroom", he ordered.
Clara stared at him.
"I said, get in the bedroom", repeated Trampler, his voice rising ominously.
Clara backed away from him into the bedroom, all the time keeping a wary eye on him. Trampler strode after her: he was tall, bulky and broad-shouldered, while she was short and slight. When Clara was about two feet in front of the bed, he issued a new order:
"Get your clothes off!"
"Why?", asked Clara, though she could sense what was about to happen: she felt sick.
"Just get your fucking clothes off, bitch!", roared Trampler. "Do as I say, or else!".
Clara was frightened by the threatening tone in his voice: if I don't do what he says, he'll kill me, she thought. Slowly, her whole body trembling, she took off the necklace that Devi had given her. Trampler eyed it suspiciously.
"Where did you get that?", he inquired.
"It's nothing", said Clara hastily, feeling even more frightened now. She lifted off her shirt and placed it and the necklace on the sofa.
"And your bra as well!", ordered Trampler.
Clara hesitated.
"What the fuck did I tell you, bitch?", shouted Trampler, moving menacingly towards Clara.
Clara hastily took off her bra. Trampler glanced at her breasts.
"Not bad, but I've seen better", he opined with malicious pleasure.
Feeling utterly humiliated, Clara took off the rest of her clothes and deposited them on the sofa.
"Now lie down on the fucking bed!".
It's about to happen, thought Clara despairingly. She lay down on the bed, and sure enough, after swiftly disrobing himself, Trampler was upon her: he pressed down so heavily that Clara could hardly breathe, but she did not dare object. He began to kiss her: it felt like a vice clamped around her mouth. His stubble pricked sharply against her face. She could feel his thrusts inside her: she felt invaded, desecrated and violated. She closed her eyes, trying to pretend it wasn't happening, while at the same time desperately wishing it would end.
Finally, after about 10 minutes, Trampler lifted himself off Clara. She raised her head and saw him getting back into his trousers: his appetite was satiated. Clara scrambled off the bed and hastily put her clothes back on, as though she were covering up something unclean.
"Listen to me, bitch", announced Trampler. "I've done you a massive favour today, not many men would be interested in fucking a dwarf like you. In return, I want you to keep that big mouth of yours shut about any fucking thing to do with the President. Any goddamn thing at all, or you'll get's what coming to you. Do you understand?"
Clara didn't reply.
"Do you understand?", raged Trampler, once again advancing on Clara. Clara hastily nodded.
"And one more thing . . .", Trampler began, but then he noticed Clara's phone lying next to the television. Clara watched in horror as he seized it. Trampler fixed his eyes on her.
"Are you on social media?", he asked.
"Facebook, Twitter and Instagram", replied Clara hurriedly.
Trampler looked at all her social media accounts: Clara once again had a sense of being violated. She felt angry at his browsing her accounts, but powerless to prevent it.
"Good to see there ain't nothing there that shouldn't be", remarked Trampler once he had finished. Then he took a glance at the Instagram screen.
"Your name is Clara Hewson?", he asked her.
Again, Clara nodded. Trampler contemptuously dropped the phone back onto the television's table.
"Right, one more thing, bitch", said Trampler. "You ain't never gonna tell no one about me. No one. Is that fucking clear?"
"Yes, Dave", replied Clara tentatively. Trampler looked angry.
" 'Mr. Trampler' or 'sir' to you, bitch", he growled.
He strolled towards the door, but as he reached the threshold he turned around and said:
"I'll be back".
He slammed the door: Clara could hear his footsteps fading away. She sat down on the bed, breathing heavily, and tried to digest all that had just happened. She felt shocked, humiliated, confused, all at once. She spent the rest of the evening surfing the Internet for information about elephants, trying and failing to forget about Trampler.
"You see I gave the little bitch a right good fucking. By the time I'd finished, she wasn't so fucking full of herself no more. My God, she was absolutely fucking terrified. She ain't gonna be poking round no more."
Trampler had a wide smirk on his face as he said these words. Crawley laughed heartily.
"Well done, Dave", he boomed, thumping the Oval Office desk to signal his approval.
"I wouldn't be so sure", said Conti cautiously.
Trampler gave him a look of displeasure.
"Why are you always so fucking down, Brian?", he growled.
"Because", Conti replied, "You tried to warn her before and she still came back. You thought she wouldn't come back after the first time but she still did. She seems the type who'll keep on interfering no matter what anyone tells her or does to her."
Trampler had just opened his mouth to argue the point when the door opened and a tall slim woman with cropped blonde hair entered the room.
"Hi there, Jane", said Crawley brightly.
Jane did not reply or acknowledge the other two men: she strode up to the desk.
"Thomas, I've just been told by one of the staffers that you won't let me run in the special election. Is that true?", she demanded fiercely.
"Now, now, Jane", laughed Crawley, "What makes you think I'd do that?".
"Every day of our marriage, Thomas", she replied. "What excuse is it this time?"
Crawley's smile faded, but when he spoke he still attempted his usual joviality.
"Come on, Jane, you need to support me in my election in November", he insisted. "Every candidate needs his wife with him on the campaign trail, you know that. You can hardly stand by me when you have to sit in the Senate chamber all day. Maybe if a seat comes up after November?"
Jane's eyes narrowed.
"Do you really expect me to believe that another vacancy will come up in Pennsylvania, just like that? I want you to support my bid, or our marriage is through."
She stalked out of the Oval Office.
Clara went into work with her head hung low, her shoulders slumped, her eyes downcast, her feet shuffling. Lily teasingly asked her if Devi had left her, but Angela could tell it was something far more serious. Worried, she repeatedly asked Clara to explain, but Clara would not. She struggled through the day's work, doing her best to smile for her customers. At least she would be going to the Good Time that evening with Devi and Lily, but even that thought could barely cheer her up. She kept darting her head about, expecting Trampler to be at every table or hiding around every corner, and several times she was so distracted that she had to ask the customers to repeat their order: highly uncharacteristic behaviour. She repeatedly caressed the necklace, and each time it briefly gave her the boost she needed to carry on with her work.
In the evening Clara made her way to the Good Time. Devi and Lily were already there. Devi smiled her usual enthusiastic smile on seeing Clara, but Clara only smiled weakly in response. Even when Devi kissed her, Clara only gave Devi's lips the briefest of touches. Concerned, Devi asked Clara what was the matter, but Clara simply shook her head. She did not volunteer to buy any drinks: Devi had to remind her when it was her round. When Devi invited her to dance, Clara accepted the invitation, but her heart was not in it: she only did a few slow steps, did not respond when Devi tried to spin her around, and did none of the twisting and leaping that she was usually so fond of. Nor did she sing.
Just after midnight, they called it a night. Devi and Lily asked Clara if she would like for them to meet up again in two nights' time: she agreed without too much enthusiasm. Devi again asked Clara if anything was wrong, but got no response. Devi passionately kissed Clara goodnight, with Clara trying as best she could to reciprocate. They parted, with Devi expressing the hope that Clara would be feeling better next time they saw each other.
Clara made her way back to her apartment: as she approached the door she was afraid and horrified when she saw Trampler standing outside it. On hearing her approach, he spun round viciously to face her, glaring at her fiercely.
"Where the fuck have you been, bitch?", he roared.
Clara looked down at her shoes.
"When I ask you a fucking question . . .!", shouted Trampler in that menacing voice, edging towards the quivering Clara.
"To the Good Time, sir", she said hastily.
"I've been here three hours!", Trampler raged. "Three fucking hours! When I turn up here, I expect you to be here! No ifs or buts!"
"But what if I'm going out that night, sir?", asked Clara, hoping against hope.
"Never!", bellowed Trampler. "You must never go out again! You will stay in here, bitch, waiting for me! Who the fuck knows what you might tell people if you go out? Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir", replied Clara immediately.
"Right", answered Trampler. "Now get the fuck in there", pointing to the apartment door, "so I can do my business!"
Two nights later, Devi alighted from the bus and walked towards the Good Time. She was in high spirits: the Chennai Super Kings had won the Indian Premier League the previous day, and she was eagerly looking forward to sharing this wonderful news with Clara. She met Lily outside, and they waited for Clara. 10 minutes passed, and still Clara did not come.
"Maybe she doesn't feel like it!", laughed Lily.
Devi frowned.
"It's not like her at all", she said firmly. "To not even text me. This doesn't feel right."
"Come on, now, Devi, you're starting to sound like Angela!", remarked Lily.
Devi ignored this reference.
"I need to go and see her, and find out what's wrong", she said. "Will you come too, Lily?"
"No thanks", replied Lily. "It's not much to worry about, I don't think, she's probably just moody."
Devi gave Lily a hard stare, but stopped herself short of saying anything.
"Well, I will go", she insisted finally. "I'll see you back here."
Devi briskly crossed the road to Clara's apartment block, wondering what might be the matter. Was Clara ill? But according to Lily she had been in work that day. What then could be preventing her from coming out? She hadn't been herself two nights ago, of course, for whatever reason, but surely she would have cheered up by now? And why no text message? Devi had a horrible sense of foreboding, but had no idea what the answer could be.
Devi reached Clara's door and, as always, she knocked once, then paused, and then knocked three more times. Almost immediately, she heard a rough male voice shouting out, "Who the fucking Hell is that?", and the door was roughly wrenched open, and, to her astonishment, she saw Dave Trampler standing there, glaring at her. Her eyes narrowed at the sight of the man who, as she knew, had threatened to rape Holly. She glanced past Trampler into the bedroom, and caught sight of a topless and frightened Clara, moving towards her, then quickly shrinking out of Devi's line of sight.
"Who the fuck are you, bitch?", growled Trampler.
Devi fixed him with a haughty glare.
"Don't you talk to me like that", she said coolly.
"I'll talk to you how I want, bitch, I'm the fucking White House Chief of Staff", riposted Trampler. "I say again, who are you?"
There was a rising threat in his voice, but Devi drew herself up to her full height and looked him in the eyes.
"For your information, I'm Clara's girlfriend", she asserted.
"Girlfriend?", repeated Trampler. He seemed momentarily shocked, but then turned round and shouted to an unseen Clara, in an ominous voice, "You didn't tell me you had a fucking girlfriend, bitch!"
"You leave Clara alone", said Devi, increasingly angry.
"Make me", sneered Trampler. He was so bulky he nearly blocked Clara's doorway: it would be useless for Devi to try and force her way past him.
"Speak to me, Clara!", she called out, trying to get an angle at which she could see Clara, but Trampler moved to block her sight at every turn. "Are you OK?"
No response.
"Please, Clara", begged Devi, "speak to me, I won't let him hurt you."
But Devi knew, even as she spoke, that her promise was worthless. She could tell Trampler knew it too: he was smirking at her, and he also turned round, she knew, to smirk at Clara as well. His smirk infuriated Devi.
"What are you doing here, anyway?", she demanded.
"None of your fucking business, bitch", he shouted back at her. "Bitches who sneak around, poking their noses, it never ends well for them. Now fuck off will you."
"I won't", said Devi. "I'm not gonna just go off and let you abuse Clara. I won't."
"Yes you fucking will", Trampler hit back, "or that little bitch", he pointed in the direction of Clara, just in case Devi had failed to get the message, "will get what's coming to her."
Devi glared at him with anger and contempt for a short time, then she turned on her heel, and strode away: she heard him slam the door behind her. She briefly looked back over her shoulder and shouted, "You haven't heard the last of me, Trampler!". Her mind was full of anger and worry, and she could not not forget the frightened look she had seen on Clara's face. She was determined to help Clara, but could not think how.
Clara had been terrified when she had heard Devi's distinctive knock on the door: what would Trampler do to her on discovering she had a girlfriend? Her fears mounted with the threatening words that Trampler shouted at her after Devi revealed this fact. Even Devi's protective words brought her no comfort: they only increased the danger she was in. As Trampler was ordering Devi to leave, Clara hastily hid the necklace at the bottom of her drawers: fortunately Trampler did not see this. She closed the drawers at the same time that Trampler slammed the door on Devi: despite everything, Clara could not help feeling dismayed at Devi's departure.
Trampler advanced on Clara, and then shouted at her, in the most menacing tone he had yet adopted:
"Why didn't you tell me, bitch? Why didn't you fucking tell me?"
"Please, sir, I didn't think", said Clara desperately.
"Bitches like you never think, do you?", roared Trampler. "I'll fucking teach you to not tell me, I'm now gonna fuck you harder than I've ever fucking done before! Then you'll really know what it's like to be fucked! Now get your trousers off!"
The next morning, Clara arrived outside the County Line as usual: Angela and Lily were already there, waiting for the shutters to open.
"Hi there, Trampler's girl", teased Lily, with a twinkle in her eye.
"What do you mean, Lily?", demanded Angela sharply. "What's this, 'Trampler's girl'? What's going on, Clara?"
Clara looked at Lily warily.
"How do you know that?", she asked.
"Devi told me of course", laughed Lily, as the shutters started to lift. "My God, she was in some state, she was real upset when she got back to me. Who'd have thought it, the high and mighty Devi!"
"Can you please explain what's going on?", asked Angela, sounding anxious, as they walked through the door and started taking the chairs off the tables.
Clara sighed, and fearfully explained to the others everything about Trampler's three visits to her flat. Lily continued to smile and laugh, but Angela looked sickened on hearing the story. She broke off from lifting the window shutters and embraced Clara tightly.
"Poor Clara", she exclaimed, "what a horrible thing to go through. And what a horrible man he is. There's long been rumours going round about him, but this . . . It's just too awful to think about. I mean, I never liked that Devi, but he's far worse."
Clara slowly extricated herself from Angela's embrace.
"But then", she said slowly, "you were wrong about Devi, weren't you, so maybe . . ."
"I was definitely not wrong about Devi", insisted Angela, who was now beginning to dust down the tables and the bar, "but she's beside the point. You've said yourself, Clara, what he's been doing to you. He's abusing you."
"Devi thinks that, too", laughed Lily. "Wow, Angela, you and Devi actually agree on something!"
Angela gave Lily a withering stare. "A stopped clock tells the right time twice a day", she replied.
"But he's never hit me", ventured Clara.
"Oh, Clara", sighed Angela, "just because he hasn't hit you doesn't mean it isn't abuse. He's controlling you, stopping you from going out, from doing what you enjoy. He looking over your social media accounts. He's threatening to kill you to make you do what he wants. He's fucking raping you."
"But he's never used force against me", said Clara.
"But he's using threats", said Angela, a hint of exasperation in her voice. "That is still rape."
"Maybe he's just a bit, well, rough", suggested Clara.
"And he's made Devi upset as well", butted in Lily, as Angela began to clean the glasses. "That's a good thing, in your eyes, isn't it?"
Angela ignored her. "Please Clara, don't tell me you fancy him", she said.
"I don't fancy him", said Clara in an offended tone. "He scares me, and I still . . ."
She stopped herself: it would not be prudent to tell Angela that she still loved Devi.
"Please, Clara, listen to me", urged Angela, her voice full of anxiety and concern. "This is abuse, pure and simple. There are so many women who try to tell themselves that they're not being abused, that their partner really loves them and is just a bit rough, and by the time they've figured it out, they're in their graves. Please, Clara, for your own safety, you must break it off."
"But what can I do?", asked Clara forlornly. "If I try to tell him that, he'll kill me."
"But if you don't break it off, he will kill you in the end", pleaded Angela. She had now stopped cleaning the glasses and was focusing her worried gaze firmly on Clara. "I could come with you if you want, to tell him."
"But how could we stop him coming back?", asked Clara.
"I don't know", said Angela, "but I do know you need to end it right now".
Clara hung her head and did not reply: she simply could not see any way of stopping Trampler from coming to her apartment.
Over the next six weeks, Trampler continued his unwelcome visits. Sometimes he came on consecutive nights, sometimes every two nights. He also varied the times that he came: this had the effect of disorientating Clara, as she could never be sure when her tormentor might come. But regardless of date or time, the pattern was always the same: Trampler would first check Clara's social media accounts, to make sure she had posted nothing about himself or the President, and every time, he found everything to his satisfaction. Then he would order her to undress.
One night, about a week after the fateful night when Devi had come calling, Trampler proudly showed Clara an expensive bracelet he had bought her: Clara at first was speechless on seeing it, then looked up at Trampler and said:
"Thank you, sir."
And she was sure that Trampler's expression softened slightly, but it was only momentary.
"This is to remind you to keep quiet, bitch", he warned her. "If you step out of line . . ."
He went on to buy her further gifts as the weeks went by: a luxury watch, a pair of glittering high heel shoes and two very large earrings, each accompanied by the same warning. He insisted that she should wear all these items every time he visited.
Clara was confused. She remained afraid of Trampler, and never enjoyed his rough manner of having sex with her: she could not forget the blissful lovemaking she had enjoyed with Devi, which now seemed such a long time ago. She missed Devi terribly, and thought about her constantly in her dreams and her waking hours. Devi repeatedly sent Clara text messages asking if she was all right and offering to protect her, but Clara did not reply, for fear of Trampler's reaction, and after about a fortnight the messages ceased, giving Clara an awful feeling that maybe Devi no longer loved her. She also did not dare retrieve the necklace from her drawers. But at the same time she felt flattered to have attracted the attention of such an important man, and was touched by his gifts: maybe, she thought, he can't be all that bad if he has bought these for me. Angela constantly tried to warn her away from Trampler, but Clara took no account, partly out of fear and partly because of his gifts.
Eventually Clara plucked up the courage to phone her mother and tell her about Trampler.
"Holy cow! A relationship with the President's Chief of Staff! You're really getting into these high achievers now!", exclaimed Clementina.
"But Angela thinks he's abusing me", Clara ventured tentatively.
"She's just jealous", insisted Clementina. "She just wants what you have. Good for you, Clara, I'm so impressed."
One day, at work, Clara saw, blazed across the front of the TV screen, the words "PRESIDENT 'EMBEZZLING FEDERAL FUNDS' ". She stopped what she was doing and looked closer. She then tried to quickly move on, but then reminded herself that Trampler was not in the County Line, and so kept on watching it. The presenter was explaining that the Washington Post had published an article accusing President Crawley of spending $100bn of federal money not just on his Californian ranch (Devi had told Clara about this some time ago) but also on a New York menagerie containing tigers, lions, elephants and other exotic creatures, and on a huge yacht filled with a sauna, an Olympic-sized swimming pool, a tennis court and a gymnasium.
"And now", announced the presenter, "we can talk to one of the reporters who wrote the story", and, to Clara's shock, the camera cut away to show Devi. Clara let out a gasp. She then remembered that she had work to do, and turned her face away from the screen, but she could not help throwing the occasional glance, gazing admiringly and longingly at Devi, who was calmly explaining about the investigation.
The embezzlement story was on the news bulletins all day: sometimes Clara saw Devi being interviewed, at other times it was a short, stout woman whom Clara had never seen before. Clara could not get the story out of her head: she desperately wanted to know what was going on, and what Devi and the other woman had found. As soon as she had finished work and said goodbye to Angela and Lily, she ran back to her apartment. She didn't even make herself a meal, as she normally did, but made straight for her phone and typed the words "president crawley corruption" into Google. There she found it, at the top of the results page: a Washington Post story headlined "Revealed: how Crawley diverted federal funds for own lavish lifestyle", and credited to "Holly MacIver and Devi Bose". Feeling very excited, Clara tapped on the story, but she had barely begun to read it when she heard the all too familiar banging on her door. She leapt up in fright, dropping the phone back onto its table: she knew how Trampler would react when he looked at her phone. She was trying to think what to do, when his voice came ringing out:
"Open the fucking door, bitch!"
Clara did not respond.
"I said, open the fucking door!", he roared.
Again, no response: Clara was breathing heavily.
"Open the fucking door before I smash it in!", ordered Trampler in the menacing tone that Clara had grown accustomed to over the past six weeks.
Shaking with dread, Clara tiptoed towards the door and slowly opened it. Trampler, as always, strode purposefully past her into the bedroom and made straight for her phone. Clara, still standing next to the door, tried not to think about what would happen next: perhaps, she thought desperately, he'll just go straight to my social media accounts and won't notice the story.
But it was all in vain: Trampler only took one glance at Clara's phone before he turned around, screaming with rage:
"What the fuck have I always told you, bitch? What the fuck? All the goddamn favours I've done you! And you do this bullshit!"
"I'm sorry, sir", said Clara pleadingly.
"Sorry?", bellowed Trampler. "I'll fucking make you sorry, bitch! I'll make you wish you'd never been born!"
He strode up to Clara and slapped her hard across the cheek: the first time he had hit her.
"I just made a mistake, sir". Clara was desperate now, clutching her stinging cheek and trembling faster than she had ever done in her life. "I won't happen again, I promise."
"Damn right it won't happen again!", shouted Trampler at the top of his voice. "I'll fucking make sure of that!"
And he stormed out through the doorway.
Once she could no longer hear his footsteps, Clara slowly closed the door and sat down on the bed. She was now more terrified than ever: his parting words stuck in her mind.
"It's the only thing we can do. We've tried everything else, and it still hasn't worked. She still won't be stopped. No matter what we try, she keeps poking her fucking nose in. There's no other way."
Trampler was furiously pacing up and down the Oval Office as he said those words, looking down at the floor, talking half to himself, half to Crawley and Conti.
"Is this really necessary, Dave?", asked Conti anxiously. "Couldn't we . . .?"
He broke off as Trampler stopped pacing and gave him a determined stare.
"That Asian bitch who was on TV today, that reporter, she's that little bitch's girlfriend", he said. "She came snooping round some time ago, I recognised her today."
"What?", exclaimed Crawley and Conti together.
"Is this true, Dave?", inquired Crawley.
Trampler looked up at his boss.
"Yes, sir", he replied. "That little bitch knows too much."
"But will your plan work?", asked Conti.
Trampler was about to argue the point when Crawley stepped in.
"I agree with you, Dave", he said. "We need to get rid of this inconvenient woman. But", he added, with an edge to his voice, "I have more important matters to deal with, what with Jane still complaining about that Senate seat. And Dave", he added, now in a warning tone, "I don't want any of this getting traced back to me. If it goes wrong, you will take the fall. Do you understand?"
Trampler replied with a malicious grin.
"Don't worry, sir", he assured Crawley, "I promise you it will be the perfect murder."
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