The Accusation

From Blushes Supplement 19

Mr Peters studied his daughter’s deep clear blue eyes and then shook his head in disbelief. ‘Are you sure? He did what?’ Cheryl repeated her accusation. ‘He came into my cubicle, daddy… and put his arms around my…’ Her mother had been busying herself in the kitchen but her daughter’s words had put paid to the housework, at least for the time being. ‘This is very serious,’ said Mr Peters. ‘Very serious indeed.’

It was time for Cheryl to leave for work. She slipped her anorak over her shoulders, picked up her shoulder-bag and checked she had her car keys. ‘Anyway. I’ll see you tonight.’ She gave her mother a quick kiss on the cheek and went on her way. ‘I’m amazed at old Mason. Really I am.’ Peters told his wife. ‘After all, he’s been attendant at the baths for years. Good grief. I think he was there when I was a lad.’ Peters also had to get to work. He put his arm round his wife’s shoulders. ‘Don’t worry, love. I’ll get to the bottom of this. I’ll give you a ring from the office.’

Cheryl put a cassette in her car radio, turned the volume up high and smiled all the way to work. How she hated that miserable old devil! And all she’d been doing was casting her eyes around a few other cubicles; just out of interest. How dare old Mason tell her off just like a naughty school girl! She’d get even with him, she had promised herself. And after that morning’s planned disclosure at the breakfast table she felt she was well on the way. She had read a story in one of the papers, sometime back; about a baths attendant down in the South; about how he’d been found guilty of getting a little too familiar with girls in his charge. He’d been sacked on the spot; and an industrial tribunal only endorsed the corporation’s action. ‘I’ll teach him a lesson,’ she promised herself.

When Peters got to the office he told his secretary of his concern. She had sensed there was something wrong. Despite the usual Monday morning feeling all round the office, her boss had seemed rather withdrawn when he’d first arrived. ‘Yes. I know him. I must admit I’m very surprised. He’s a very well-known figure around the Leisure Centre, you know. Got an award for saving some youngster’s life, you know.’ Peters knew alright, and the knowledge only served to increase his concern. After all, the welfare of his nineteen-year-old daughter had to come first, before Arthur Mason’s good name.

At lunchtime, Peters got talking to a friend who worked down in despatch whose daughter was about Cheryl’s age. ‘That’s a pretty serious accusation,’ he remarked. ‘But if Cheryl’s sure…’ Peters interrupted him rather curtly. ‘Of course she’s sure, Simon. She told us all the details.’ He pulled the bar stool closer to his friend’s. ‘Apparently she was just getting changed after her life-saving lesson last night, and old Mason just walked into her cubicle. She was just towelling herself dry; and the old bugger put his arm around her… her breasts… and then slapped her bottom. Said he was just having a friendly play.’ He drained his beer glass and pushed it across the bar. ‘I’ll give him friendly play! I’ll have him out of that place with my boot behind him!’ His friend looked equally worried. ‘Yes. A very serious accusation. Very serious indeed.’ It was time to get back to their respective offices. Simon put his hand on Peter’s shoulder. ‘But tread carefully, mate. You know how the papers love this sort of story.’ Peters did know of course. It was just the sort of thing he could read about almost every week. Whatever action he decided to take; it wouldn’t be very easy; not for Cheryl; not for his poor wife.

It was almost the end of the week when Peters decided to take the bull by the horns. He waited until the office was quiet and his secretary had gone down to the printing section. His palms sweating, he picked up the phone, dialled an outside line and then the number of the Leisure Centre. He asked the receptionist to put him through to the Baths Superintendent. ‘Mr Mason? Mr Arthur Mason?’ He checked he was talking to the man himself. ‘Ah. This is Joe Peters here… Cheryl’s father. Look. I’d rather like to have a talk with you. If that’s convenient?’ The old man at the baths agreed, and they arranged to meet at the Centre later in the afternoon. Peters next rang through to his wife. ‘I’ll be home a little later tonight, darling.’ And he explained why.

The rest of the afternoon dragged by uneasily and Peters spent much of the time rehearsing mentally his approach to old Mason. He got caught in the traffic as he drove across town to the Centre and pulled into the car park only minutes before his planned appointment. He hated arriving late. It always gave the other party the upper hand. He walked quickly along the clean shining corridors, through endless double doors until he reached the Baths Reception. Mason was waiting for him. ‘Look. This is rather personal, and it’s not too pleasant for either of us.’ The old man nodded, concern expressed all over his face. ‘Come into the office then. We’ll be on our own in there.’

Mason listened in silence as Peters repeated his daughter’s accusation. He looked shocked, quite understandably. ‘This is terrible,’ he whispered in a low almost inaudible voice. ‘I know your daughter, of course I do; but I’d never do anything like that. Never. I’ve got grown-up daughters of my own. I’ve looked after these baths for nigh on twenty years…’

Peters, having got over the initial embarrassment of the confrontation felt anger taking over from his nervousness. ‘Are you telling me that my daughter is a liar? Are you? Well just you listen to me, sir. I intend to take this to your employers. If necessary I’ll go to the police,’ he stood up, grabbed his raincoat from the back of his chair and stormed out of the office. Mason remained sitting at his desk, staring blankly across to the vacant chair. Then he shook his head sadly and picked up the phone to ring his wife.

Cheryl was delighted with the news. ‘I suppose he was bound to deny it, Daddy. But it’s the truth… I’m afraid to say.’ She even pretended to have a soft spot for the old fool. ‘But I did the right thing to tell you, didn’t I, Daddy?’ She fixed her big clear eyes upon him again and he felt reassured that he had taken the right course of action. ‘It’s too late now to do anything else. I’ll ring the Corporation in the morning when I get into work.’

He reached his office a little earlier than usual, and was surprised to find Simon waiting for him. ‘Thank God you haven’t rung them yet,’ he breathed when Peters told him about the confrontation with Mason. ‘I beg your pardon?’ Simon told his old friend to sit down. ‘Look. This all happened last Sunday night, didn’t it?’ Peters nodded. ‘Cheryl was doing her life-saving course?’ He nodded again. Simon took a deep breath. ‘Who’s her instructor?’ Peters looked across at him quizzically. ‘Why. It’s Mrs Morgan. She’s the only qualified instructor they’ve got.’ Simon took another deep breath. ‘Did you actually tell old Mason it was Sunday night?’ Peters looked for his cigars and then for his lighter. ‘Well. Now you mention it. No. It was all a bit nasty and fraught, really. But he didn’t deny he was there at the time.’ He lit up a cigar and offered one to his friend. Simon declined. ‘But you see, my wife knows Annette Morgan very well. They were at school together. And for the past week Annette’s been in hospital with an eye infection. There’s no way she could have taken her class on Sunday. In fact I made a few enquiries, and it seems her girls were told at the Reception to go home again.’ The office was silent for a while. The cigar smoke curled up through the still air. ‘Jesus Christ.’ Peters stubbed at his cigar. Simon continued. ‘You see. They decided to swap classes because of Annette’s illness. The young wives group went in instead. Your Cheryl wasn’t allowed in the water last Sunday. She couldn’t have been changing when the old boy allegedly walked into her cubicle…’

Peters closed his eyes. ‘Jesus Christ. What a fool she’s taken me for.’ He looked up the Leisure Centre’s number again. Old Mason was there. He told him he was coming straight over. ‘Tell Jill I’ve been delayed, will you?’ Simon promised to look after his office for the morning. Like a madman, Peters sped across town against the flow of the rush-hour traffic. At that still-early hour, the Centre was strangely quiet. Only the hum of cleaning machines echoed through its glass-sided corridors and walkways.

‘I’m sorry, Arthur. Very sorry.’ Peters expected a torrent of outrage from the defamed attendant. ‘But I just can’t understand why she should tell such lies. What could be the reason?’ Old Mason folded his arms in front of him. ‘I think I know. You see, when Cheryl’s class turned up that night, they were told to go away again. Some of them… your daughter included… got a bit stroppy. Complained they should have been told earlier. Course, that wasn’t my fault. Anyway, I went back to the poolside ‘cos the young mums had come in. And then I saw Cheryl in the Changing Area. She was looking in some of the cubicles. Don’t know what she was doing, but I told her to go home. Said that people might get the wrong idea seeing her going in and out of other peoples’ cubicles like that. I’m afraid she got a bit cross with me. Told me I was a silly old… sod.’

Peters felt himself growing angry again. Not this time with the old attendant, but with his deceitful young daughter. ‘Yes. She called me that, just once, by Christ. And she had her backside tanned for it!’ Mason sighed a weary sigh. ‘Look. I don’t want to take this any further. But please do something about your daughter. Mud sticks you know.’

Mrs Peters was surprised and concerned when her husband appeared on the doorstep in the middle of the morning. She put the kettle on, having been reassured that everything was alright. In the peace of their lounge they talked about the problem of their daughter. ‘Too bloody lenient, that’s what we are. Thought she was too old and grown-up for a tanning after she’d finished school.’ His wife agreed wholeheartedly. ‘Trouble is. She’s a big girl now. She can do as she pleases.’ Her husband had other ideas. True. Cheryl was no longer a naughty little schoolgirl. If they had a really violent slanging match she’d probably walk out on them and find a bed-sit somewhere; but something would have to be done. ‘To think what we nearly did to that poor old man.’ Mrs Peters whispered. ‘And his daughters are such pleasant girls.’

Peters thought long and hard about his predicament. Slowly his anger diminished and he was able to think more clearly again. He took the country route back to his office so that he could think and plan as he drove. By the time he reached his company’s car park, the germ of an idea had grown to a firm resolve.

Immediately after lunch he rang his daughter at the library where she worked. ‘Hello, love. We had a phone-call just after you left this morning.’ He silently forgave himself for the blatant lie. ‘The Leisure Centre says they’re putting on an extra Life-Saving Evening. A late-night session tonight at ten, if you’re interested?’

Cheryl was a little puzzled, or at least pretended to be. ‘Anyway, Mum said she was sure you’d want to go?’ He waited for her reply. Cheryl agreed. The first stage of his plan had worked.

When Cheryl reached the Centre that evening, it was almost dark; and with the exception of a few squash classes almost every other activity had shut down. Most of the Centre’s patrons were just leaving as she skipped her way along to the pool. It all seemed very quiet. The usual receptionist had also gone home but a handwritten poster on the door directed her life-saving class to go straight ahead and get changed. She found the cubicles empty. ‘Must be first here,’ she thought to herself. She hummed to herself as she got undressed. Soon she was standing in the small cubicle completely naked as she unrolled her swimming costume from inside her towel. She had just pulled her shoulder straps up when the concertina-type door of the cubicle slid open a few inches. She gave a short yell of astonishment as she saw old Mason standing there.

‘Hey. What is this?’ Mason pulled the door fully open. ‘What’s the surprise for, young lady. Apparently I go round doing this all the time according to certain gossip I’ve been hearing.’ Cheryl shook her head. ‘Oh no… oh no… that was just a… a little joke…’ Mason placed his hands either side of the cubicle walls effectively barring her escape. ‘But what about last Sunday night and all those accusations…’ The girl grabbed her towel and held it about her. ‘Oh no… I didn’t really mean it really. I’m sure you wouldn’t really…’

The remainder of her sentence gave way to a gasp of astonishment as she looked beyond the thick-set form of the Attendant and saw her father listening to the conversation. ‘Oh. Daddy!’ Cheryl was propelled, with the aid of her father’s hand across her bottom to go back to the car and in silence they drove to Mason’s home. Mason went with them, opened the door to his bedroom and stepped back to enable Peters to lead his daughter inside. He kept a firm hold of his daughter’s bare arm. ‘Apologise young lady.’ Cheryl muttered her apologies to the old man who was sitting down in the bedroom. ‘I really don’t know what made me do it. Really I don’t.’ Her father disagreed. ‘We do know why you lied, young lady: because Mr Mason found you nosing about in the cubicles after you’d been told to leave.’ He released his grip on the girl and she sat down. ‘But we’re going to make sure you never do it again!’ Her father produced a piece of headed notepaper and held it out to her. ‘Read this…’ Cheryl scanned the typewritten words with mounting panic:

PUBLIC NOTICE

As of the above date, Miss Cheryl Peters is banned from the facilities of the Centre due to pilfering.

She burst into tears. All her friends used the Centre, and the other librarians too. She would be branded a thief by the whole community. ‘It’s only what you deserve, young lady. In fact your accusations and lies against Mr Mason ought to be published somewhere as well.’ She pleaded with them. ‘Please. Not this, please. I’ll do anything…’

Peters thought she would react in that way. He knew his daughter’s precocious ways. For her, any form of public derision amounted to the ultimate penalty. ‘You didn’t think twice about defaming Mr Mason, did you?’ She shook her head. The tears had stopped now. Perhaps they had been only for show. ‘Well. You’ve got one last chance. Mr Mason here has brought up three fine daughters of his own; and he’s done a far better job of it than I appear to be doing with you. As it is he whom you defamed, I have asked him to take you to task. If you don’t agree, you can go and get your clothes and leave; and this notice will be placed on every noticeboard in the Centre.’ Cheryl recognised his choice of phrase. Her father often used to use those words: ‘take you to task.’ Back in her schooldays that inevitably meant a good hiding, with her navy blue knickers taken down to her knees. He did look terribly angry, that Mr Mason; but that notice? There was hardly any choice in the matter.

‘Stand up, young lady.’ Mason moved to the bed and sitting down on it he patted his knee. ‘Over here, Cheryl.’ Last time she’d been put across someone’s knee she’d been much smaller; and it had been her father. This was a far more dreadful ordeal, with her big bottom bulging out of her tight costume, perched so prominently over this old man’s knee. The ordeal grew even worse as Mason proceeded to tan her, applying his hardened palm to every curvy inch of her ample bottom. She wriggled and twisted, yelled and then sobbed as he taught the young lady a long-overdue lesson.

At last he stopped and she scrambled to her bare feet. Pushing her hair back away from her face, she stared at her father. ‘Oh, Daddy. That was awful…’ She clasped her stinging rear-end with both hands and forced a tight smile. ‘I’m glad it’s all over, Daddy. I’ve learnt my lesson, honest I have…’ To her alarm, her father stood in front of the door. ‘Not yet, young lady. Not yet.’ He took her shoulders and turned her to face the old man. And then he slipped his fingers under the shoulder-straps of her costume and pulled them down over her shoulders and her arms. ‘Daddy! Please!’ But it was too late for further protestations. Her firm breasts bobbed into view as the costume was peeled down to her waist, and then, to her horror, she realised he was taking it right off. ‘Over the bed, Cheryl.’ She dived forward, flustered with embarrassment, her breasts pressed against the quilt. She felt the last vestiges of protection vanish as her costume was removed from her ankles.

Mr Mason had one particular policy as far as bringing up his daughters was concerned. She listened to her father’s voice. ‘It’s called a cane; and it’s going to be applied to your bottom, right now.’ She burst into tears again. ‘Come now, Cheryl. You’ve only had your bottom smacked. Hardly a draconian punishment! And as for your attempts at maiden modesty, you were quite happy to tell the world that Mr Mason had tried to remove your costume. Mr Mason will deal quite fairly with you. Of that I am quite sure.’

Peters opened the door. ‘I’ll see you later, then.’ He smiled at his daughter, lying bent over across the bed, her pinkened bottom wobbling slightly; and he winked at the old man. A moment later, the outer door clicked shut and Cheryl was alone with Arthur Mason. ‘Feet together, young lady, and on tip-toe if you please.’ He took up his trusty old cane, he’d actually had to wipe it with a duster when he’d rescued it from the attic, earlier that evening. Still, it was as firm and as whippy as ever it was. It had done good service with his own three girls. It would serve him well right now as well.