The one that got away

Who would have thought it? It had been twenty years but I recognised him the minute he walked into the room. Roger Burnistan, my first love. I remembered when I was thirteen and he was sixteen. He was so grown up, so wonderful. Everything about him had screamed bad boy but even at that young age I knew he was the boy for me.

He went away. We never knew where. Some of the village gossips said borstal, other to some kind of army boot camp. His father claimed he had gone to university. But he was only sixteen when he left and he never came back for the holidays. He was clever but not university clever, street smarts I would call it these days. When he did come back he had grown and the skinniness of his body had matured and bulked out. He wasn’t overly muscled but he had a body you would want to see naked. Not an ounce of fat and when his father made him work on the farm he lifted bags of feed and hay bales as if they were filled with cotton wool. The way he lifted me the first time and lay on the straw in the hay loft I felt like I was made of china and he would do anything to protect me. I had grown since he left and now at eighteen I had inherited my mum’s Rita Hayworth figure.

The summer was hot and Roger worked in the field shirtless. I made sure I cycled passed in my shortest shorts and tightest top. I knew he couldn’t resist and when I got a puncture one day he rushed over to help. I couldn’t believe my luck when the rain started and we dived into the barn for cover. The kiss melted me and I knew more was coming. Then he laid me on the straw and as he kissed my neck he slowly stroked my leg, his hand getting slightly higher with each movement. I don’t know why but as his hand reached the button on my shorts and started to undo it I panicked. I jumped up and ran out into the rain and back down the lane until I made it home. His dad brought my bike back the next day. I started dressing more sensibly and when the local boys started to sneer and giggle as I walked passed I learnt to ignore them. Not long after I went to university and never returned to my little village again. I always wondered what it was that had made me stop him and thought how my life might have been very different if I hadn’t. And today for the first time in twenty years I was to come face to face with him.

Roger stood in front of me and from the look in his eyes I could tell he didn’t know who I was. I smiled and his eyes flickered in recognition.

‘Roger Burnistan,’ I said. ‘I am arresting you for the rape and murder of fifteen girls. You do not have to say anything. However, it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’

Yes how different my life might have been.