Content Notice ~ This series will become more graphic as it continues.
This is a short series about Clive. I started it a few weeks ago but took it down as I had just not got it right. I wanted to include some third person writing when my strength is really becoming the character in first person. So I have compromised here. Both types of writing are included.
Clive’s Background ~ Part One
I was in hospital for a week. Luckily, I wasn’t physically hurt. Just shocked and shaken. I needed to be sedated. It’s not every day you discover your first boyfriend is the most notorious serial killer still at large.
Clive would never have harmed me. I know that. From the moment we met when I was only seventeen he was captivated. To others it appeared that he was clingy. But he really didn’t treat me like a possession. More like he was struggling to control his own intense passion.
When the police Inspector visited, the hospital staff made it clear I was not to be disturbed. However, the very day I was discharged, a cop car was waiting to drive me directly to the station. Apparently this was for my own protection, and there would be surveillance on my home too. First off a psychologist wanted to find out what I knew about Clive’s background. We spent some time chatting, Miss Watson scribbling notes all the while. Then she handed me my statement and left me to look over it before signing. I read it aloud. It sounded rather formal. She had missed out all my “you knows” and “ems.”
Clive was found in a wicker shopping basket outside the library. He was only a few weeks old. It was thought he may have been there some time. Apparently, the second assistant librarian opened the doors for the start of the day and spied a bag of what looked like clothes in the corner of the entrance. Assuming it had been mistakenly left there, rather than at the charity shop next door, Miss Darling made a mental note to drop it round during her lunch break. Indeed, that is exactly what she attempted to do. She carried the basket a good few moments before realizing there was a child snuggled deep within the fabric.
Once, Clive showed me a newspaper clipping detailing his discovery. The police had spoken to Miss Darling who was quoted as saying something like,
““Well I can tell you. I was proper surprised to find such a warm bundle of joy. Silent as a mouse he was.”
Clive spent his first year with foster carers until the adoption papers went through and a permanent family, the Burkes, were found. But he never felt like he belonged. His new mum only had enough love for her husband. If Mr Burke’s dinner was not on the table he would land a swift slap across her face and she would scurry off to prepare the meal. So, Clive learned very early on to keep out of his father’s way. Spending many hours in his room reading. His home was not a happy one.
Looking up from the statement I thought back to when Clive and I first met. It was the start of our last year in school. Having spent so much of his time alone Clive was a prolific reader. Not to mention a loner. He’d catch my eye over the library tables and I’d smile back. I was definitely attracted by his intelligence. He was swarthy with intense dark eyes. In contrast to my pale skin and ginger hair. He often chatted about his early years when we walked home from studying.
Even though he was not a fan of his father he was fond of his mother. A week after Clive turned eighteen she died after a long illness – leukemia. Devastated he retreated into his head. Within months his Dad had a coronary. Some say he really died of a broken heart. Left alone in the house Clive stopped attending school.
Goodness, that was a really difficult time. Sometimes I called round to see him after lessons. Often he’d forgotten to get dressed. All his time was taken up with obsessing about his Mum’s things. Going through them. Putting some into boxes and others into bags for the charity shop.
One evening he turned up on my doorstep. Grabbed my hand and we ran over the the park a few roads away. Sitting on the swings we chatted. Then he dug deep into his pocket and pulled out a pendant. Beautiful. The colours like a Chameleon, changing from blues to greens in the dusky light. He got off the swing, lifted my hair and gently fastened the jewellery round my neck. Hugging me from behind before explaining the pendant was the same colour as my eyes. It had belonged to his Mum, so was his now. But, he wanted me to have it.
I leaned my head back on his chest and he bent down and kissed me. His hands pushed down the front of my bra and caressed my nipples under the lacy material. His breath became warm and heavy against my neck. He’d never touched me like that before.
That night I think we were the closest we’d ever been. We sat and talked until it was nearly midnight.
The house was too big for Clive. Within a short time he put it on the market and began to look round for a small flat in town.
Miss Watson returned with two cups of tea and I signed the document – Rose Redmond. Clive only ever called me “Red.”
The police arranged to interview me the following day.
On to part two – Home…