Innocent Until Proven Deadly

By Kevin William Barry

John Livingstone stood and slowly made his way to the kitchen. Detective Gary 'Schoolbags' Samson followed close behind. He grabbed the jug off the bench top, filled it with water and turned it on. 
"W-We were at a friends place, Maggie, playing cards. Her new boyfriend, Peter somebody. He was a real prick. So full of himself, Helen, that's my wife, couldn't stand him. Maggie's a bit desperate, but we both thought he was so awful we came home early. Good thing hey?" 
Mr. Livingstone was rambling. The adrenaline that had kept him going for the last half hour or so was wearing off and he was coming down. Coming down fast.
He got himself a cup, then reached into the overhead cupboard for a jar of instant coffee. Gary noticed his hands were shaking. Suddenly the coffee jar slipped from his grasp, bounced off the bench top and smashed onto the floor, exploding into a thousand pieces and covering the floor with coffee powder. John began to shake uncontrollably, his breathing rapid and shallow. His legs gave way from under him and he slumped down onto the kitchen floor. His eyes filled then overflowed. 
"Oh Jesus", he wailed "Oh Jesus" over and over again. "How could anyone do that to my little girl Mr. Samson? He killed Steffy and then tried to do the same to my Becky, He raped her, cut her throat and left her to die"
John let out a cry like a wounded animal. He hugged his knees to his chest and began to rock back and forth, bashing his head repeatedly against the cupboard door. Trying, perhaps, to distract himself from the unbearable pain he felt in his soul. Then John rolled over onto his side, curling up, covering his head with his arms, trying to block out the terrible thoughts that assaulted him. 
"He cut off her finger", he whispered, "raped her, slit her throat and then cut off her finger. Like some sort of trophy."
Gary brushed away the broken glass fragments with his foot and joined the distraught man on the floor. He lifted the man into a sitting position and, leaning against the kitchen cupboard, placed his arm around John's shoulders. "It's alright John" he gently told him "I'm sure Rebecca will pull through, and I promise you, I will get the bastard who did this. I'll get him if it's the last thing I ever do". 

Set in the cities and outback of Australia, 'Innocent Until Proven Deadly, tells of Detective Gary 'Schoolbags' Samson and his search for the soldier responsible for the rape and murder of three women. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kevin William Barry
• Release date: Oct 2, 2015
• ISBN: 9781519989543

Kevin William Barry

Kevin William Barry is the Australian author of numerous novels. He lives on the Atherton Tableands, Far North Queensland Australia with his wife Cathy

Book preview

Chapter 1

S o! He’s dead?

Yes

Right. Well Miss Wilkins, there will need to be a coronal inquiry. There always is in cases where there has been a suspicious death. You will need to make a statement down at the station in a few days, after the Docs have discharged you. Or if you prefer, we can do it here, now

The girl tugged nervously at the collar of her washed out, pale blue, standard hospital issue gown and continued to stare blankly at the ceiling.

Miss Wilkins?

Yes, you’re right. I need to make a statement. Need to tell you, tell everyone what happened. Now, while it is still fresh in my mind

Detective Inspector Gary Schoolbags Samson turned on the old silver cassette recorder, leaned back into the hard, moulded plastic chair and opened the missing persons file on his lap. It was amazing, almost unimaginable to think that the pasty, podgy little blood nut in the file and the gorgeous, tanned, athletic girl lying there on the hospital bed were the same person. The girl, despite her ordeal, despite the depravation and abuse of the past few months, looked well, more than well in fact, she looked wonderful. The docs had examined her and, except for a dangerously swollen appendix, which had now been removed, had pronounced her the very picture of perfect health. Well he thought as the saying went, ‘Whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.’

But after thirty-five years on the force and after interviewing hundreds, if not thousands of victims of physical abuse ‘Schoolbags’ knew that there would be damage. Lots of damage. Damage buried deep inside her psyche that would remain there, possibly for years, until some sound, sight or event the girl somehow associated with her ordeal occurred. And then the whole, dreadful, sordid mess would come flooding back. ‘Schoolbags’ hoped he wasn’t around when that happened.

So, he said, lets start at the beginning shall we?

Ten months earlier.

Rebecca Livingstone popped the ‘E’ into her mouth and washed it down with a sizeable slug of Bourbon. Ten minutes later she was still waiting for the drug to kick in. So was Stephanie.

I think we’ve been ripped off, yelled Rebecca, trying to make herself heard over the ear shattering beat, pumping out of the nightclubs sound system.

Wha?

I said that I think... The tall, lanky teenager grabbed her partners hand and dragged her through the writhing, pulsating, mass of humanity on the dance floor, and over to the bar. Here the noise of the music was a little less overpowering. The club was really pumping tonight. Packed out with wall to wall, Friday night party goers, desperate to dance, drink, and as the saying went, spend a little cash, get a little gash. Not that Rebecca Livingstone would ever have put it so crudely.  I said, I think we’ve been ripped off, She repeated.

You mean ‘I’ve’ been fucking ripped off exploded Stephanie. That was my fucking rent money Beccy. I thought you said you knew the guy.

Knew ‘of’ him, replied Rebecca. Someone told me he could get us some good stuff. How was I supposed to know he was a rip off merchant?

Stephanie’s tirade continued unabated. What a stupid bitch she was for listening to such a dumb plan in the first place. Now she had no rent money and she was already three weeks behind. She would be lucky if the landlord didn’t chuck her out on her arse.

Beccy let out a barely audible sigh of despair. This was all she needed. Things hadn’t been going well between Steffy and herself lately. The beautiful, diminutive little brunette had seemed distant over the last few days. As if her mind was on other, more important things and she had been tense, snappy and ready to find fault with almost everything Beccy said or did. Rebecca knew in her heart that Steffy was unhappy, and who could blame her? She wasn’t in Steffy’s league. Steffy was gorgeous, and Beccy, well Beccy was a bit plain. Her nose a bit on the large side. Her ears stuck out at a funny angle and her hair was straight, blonde and a bit too fine, not the beautifully, luscious, black/brown waves that adorned Stephanie Fiorelli’s head. Beccy felt certain that soon her lover would start the inevitable break-up routine. The ‘I think we should see other people’ speech or the ‘I’d rather that we were just friends’ line. Beccy tried to steel herself against what she knew must surely be coming but it was all too much to bear. The tears welled up in her eyes and a big mascara laden droplet coursed down her cheek.

Just wait until I catch that thieving bastard, I’ll cut off... Jesus Beccy, what’s wrong? In a blink of an eye Stephanie changed from pissed off bitch to distraught lover Honey what’s the matter she cried throwing her arms around her girlfriend and kissing her moist eyes. It’s alright darling she cooed, I’m not angry with you, I’m just pissed off with that dickhead druggie. Stephanie kissed her girlfriend hard on the mouth and nibbled at her lower lip.

Don’t cry love. We don’t need stupid drugs anyway do we? We have each other.

Everyone who knew the girls, knew two things without doubt. Firstly, although Stephanie was by far the more petite girl in the relationship, she had a temper to be reckoned with and, it was best to steer well clear of her if ever the shit hit the fan. Secondly, Stephanie, even though she was sometimes a little slow to tell her, loved Beccy more than life itself. Sometimes however, she wasn’t slow at all.

Hey you two yelled the big, butch, bull dyke behind the bar, smiling, Why don’t you get a room? Beccy reluctantly pulled away from her lover’s mouth and replied. What a fucking good idea.

Chapter 2

It came as no surprise to anyone, when on the morning of his eighteenth birthday, William Granger presented himself at the army recruitment centre and enlisted for five years. Granger was, and always had been, obsessed with all things military.

Even as a child, growing up as the son of an Australian diplomat living in Jakarta, Granger was far happier playing soldiers than racing around on a skateboard or ridding his bike with the other kids.

Whilst the other children read the latest ‘Lord of the Rings’ novel or listened to the hits on the radio, Granger was learning everything he could about the military. Guns, tanks, bombs, all forms of weapons, in fact anything and everything he could glean about the Army. His favourite military subject however was explosives and a few weeks before his tenth birthday, Granger built himself a home made canon out of bits of water pipe and demonstrated his knowledge on the subject by putting a sizeable hole in the side of the next door neighbour’s car.

Luckily for Granger, both the neighbours and his parents were at work and there was no one around to witness just who was responsible for the tennis ball sized hole that miraculously appeared in the Mazda 929’s front drivers side door.

Unfortunately, two years later, the whole town learnt of his penchant for things that go bang. Granger had an altercation with one of his teachers and then, as retribution, spectacularly destroyed the science room at his local school with a home made bomb. The headmaster, a man considered by many to be a bit too fervent in his religious beliefs claimed that it was only divine intervention that prevented someone being seriously injured or killed.

The Police ascertained that destruction of the science room was brought about by the detonation of a bomb made from a concoction of ammonium nitrate mixed with old sump oil. This was ignited with a magnesium fuse, wired into the timer circuit of the schools external lights. As the lights only came on at night, it was this, rather than any act of god, which saved students lives.

Understandably Granger was expelled and it was only his father’s influence with the local police that prevented charges being laid. In Indonesia, twelve year old boys were as culpable as any adult. Now, however there was no other school in Jakarta that would take him and, with no other option available, he was shipped off with the utmost haste to boarding school.

The young boy took to life as a boarder like a duck to a Bangladesh cricket player. The regimentation and camaraderie suited Granger’s personality to a tee and he began to excel at every thing he turned his hand too. His grades skyrocketed, he joined both the rugby and cricket teams and also signed up at the local dojo and began to train in martial arts. At the end of his first year, he was the most prolific run scorer, in any cricket team, ever to have played for the school and was placed within the top five percent of his class academically. He was always courteous to his teachers and was extremely popular with the other students.

He was a handsome lad and soon grew into an even more handsome young man. Tall and athletic with thick dark hair and a cheeky, charismatic grin that endeared him to young women and left the other young men in his school feeling decidedly threatened. He was well liked by everyone, but as one of his old form masters once remarked, There’s something not quite right about young Granger. He’s almost a bit too nice, a bit too ready to accommodate and please.

Chapter 3

The seven-minute walk to Central train station took the two girls forty-three minutes. But then there were all those cosy, dark doorways in which the they could kiss. And that snug little alley where they could rediscover each other’s bodies. Probing with fingers and tongues until they had sated the unbearable cravings they had for each other.

Why don’t you move in with me? asked Beccy, as they sat nestled in each other’s arms on the train heading for Paddington. I have plenty of room

You live in your parents garage! exclaimed Stephanie, There’s not enough room to swing a cat. And may I remind you, because someone is still a little reticent about declaring their sexuality, your parents still don’t know you’re a lesbian.

Beccy swallowed hard. What Stephanie said was true, but despite their very recent love making, Beccy still felt insecure in their relationship. If the little brunette accepted her offer and moved in, then she would feel safer and that in itself would make the admittedly terrifying task of ‘coming out’ to her parents slightly less onerous. She said as much to her girlfriend. The main thing though is that I love you and want you there with me as much as possible. It’s silly that we don’t live together. Besides, this way we can save a heap of money and maybe get a place of our own. What do you reckon?

Stephanie thought about this for a while, weighing up the pros and cons carefully before replying. Okay. But you have to tell your folks about us. If it’s still alright with them after that, then it’s alright with me. And one other thing, if your creepy, pervert, little brother tries anything with me I’ll have his nuts for earrings

Stephanie need not have worried. Beccy’s younger brother Ian liked lesbians. In fact, they made some of his favourite movies.

Chapter 4

During the early part of his final year in high school young Granger met Linda Lester. Linda was a year older than William and had already left school to work in one of the city’s many music stores. She was a tall statuesque brunette, with large, dreamy, eyes. Eyes that some people felt should have come with their own diving board. She possessed a curvaceous, almost voluptuous figure and a face that could only be described as beautiful. Yet despite her gorgeous physical appearance, she was a quiet, almost shy girl.

Granger did not believe in love at first sight, but Venus the goddess of love, cared not what he believed in and in an instant he was lost forever. Helplessly drowning in Linda’s limpid, hazel eyes.

Their romance was a turbulent, whirlwind affair. Friends would remark later that it was a union made in heaven and when, two days after being accepted for induction into the armed forces base at Kapooka, William asked Linda to marry him, no one was the least bit surprised.

Linda of course said yes and a date for the wedding was set for as soon as possible.

Chapter 5

Rebecca Livingstone could not whistle. She had tried, many times in fact, but with no success. She would purse her lips, shape her mouth in what she assumed was the correct fashion, fill her lungs with air and blow. The resulting, hollow, rush of wind however, was much more reminiscent of a prolapsed cow farting, than any tuneful whistle. Which was a shame. Rebecca really felt like whistling. It was, after all, one of those cheerful, bubbly, ‘money in your pocket’ type of things, that people did when they were happy. And Rebecca Livingstone was happy, as happy as a dog with two tongues.

Life had been simply glorious since Stephanie had moved in. Three days. Three wonderful, exciting, hot and sweaty, finger licking, deliriously happy days.

They had gone to see Beccy’s parents, collared them in the kitchen and asked if Steffy could move in. They didn’t have too of course, they were after all, both nineteen. Both adults, both capable of making grown up decisions, especially about who they wanted to live with. But Mr and Mrs Livingstone did own the house, and although Rebecca paid rent just like a regular tenant, she was acutely aware that the pittance she paid her parents was more of a token gesture than any genuine financial transaction.

Predictably, Rebecca’s parents were over the moon about the idea. They believed that, if Stephanie moved in, then they had a better than average chance of seeing more of their beloved daughter. So Beccy cleared out half her wardrobe, Auntie Karen’s car was borrowed and in just one afternoon the girls transported Stephanie’s belongings from Paddington to Red Hill. Just like that, Steffy moved into the Livingstone’s garage. But to Stephanie’s annoyance Rebecca reneged on her promise to explain the true nature of their relationship. I’ll get around to it when the opportunity presents itself, she declared Lets just get settled in first. I’ll tell them soon I swear. Steffy didn’t comment. Instead she went outside, to search the sky for pigs.

The Livingstone residence, home to John, Helen and their two children was the absolute epitome of a trendy, desirable, ever so chic, inner city suburban home.

The house had been constructed during the early fifties for one of the numerous, increasingly affluent, upper middle class Australians that abounded during that era. It had four bedrooms, a bathroom, separate living and dining rooms, an enormous kitchen with an equally enormous walk in and wander around pantry and, initially at least, the inevitable outside dunny. The living area proper was surrounded on three sides by a wide verandah, and the whole thing was supported on a plethora of sturdy timber poles. These poles had the dual advantage of allowing a cool breeze to waft under the house during the summer months and of negating the necessity to excavate the hillside on which the house had been built.

The original owner kept the house until 1973, when it was sold to an investor. The new owner enclosed the verandah, sectioned off the interior into as many room sized rectangles he could manage and opened a boarding house. On the 15th of march 1986 the investor, now landlord, made the fatal mistake of challenging a two litre bottle of Johnny Walker scotch to a duel and shortly after invented a more exciting, more thrilling version of bungy jumping.

Sadly, jumping off the back landing with a ‘Slinky’ wrapped around his neck didn’t prove to be the ultimate thrill seeking pastime he had thought it would be and the landlord died, in hospital, two days later from crushed vertebrae and massive internal injuries. His only surviving relative, a daughter, working as a mattress tester in Kings Cross and supporting three kids and a heroin habit was far more interested in getting hold of some cash than becoming a home owner and put the Red Hill house on the market.

Enter the newly married John and Helen Livingstone. The couple had been looking, without success, for almost six months for a house to move into, but so far had found only overpriced, poorly maintained and unbelievably ugly dumps that weren’t even worth considering. So too it was with the house on Red Hill. But Helen Livingstone had both an artistic flair and a vivid imagination and in her mind’s eye she could see the house’s potential. Rip out a wall here, a dab of paint there and the old boarding house could really be something. And one day, if Red Hill could ever shake off the unbearable stigma of being the birthplace of the Bee Gees, it might even be worth a bit of money.

Whilst the cost of the house was within their budget, the renovations, which rapidly progressed from a quick Dulux overhaul to a major rebuild had to wait until after the birth of their two children. Or to be more precise, until Helen returned to work and brought in some extra money.

Now, however all that was in the past. Today the verandah had been opened up again, the timber floors stripped back and polished to a blinding sheen, the bathroom and kitchen renovated to within and inch of their lives and the whole place had been sanded back, filled and painted in the latest, fashionable, heritage hues. Helen Livingstone was justifiably proud of her choice of colours. The muted salmon pink walls of the dinning room contrasted superbly with the mushroom grey trim and the high gloss white of the doors looked particularly striking.  She was also justifiably proud of John.  Despite having exactly no previous woodworking experience, John Livingstone proved to be an excellent amateur carpenter, and he took to the many renovation projects set for him like a duck to water. The polished timber balustrades and the exquisite double staircase leading from the footpath outside, up on to the verandah were the envy of the whole street.

John was also responsible for building the garage. First he reinforced the floor of the house with four massive steel beams. Then he hand dug, and filled with concrete, eight one metre square holes to act as footings for the new steel supports. Once these had been erected, he removed six of the old timber poles from the centre section of the house. Next the entire middle section of the hillside under the house was excavated, leaving a large flat area that, once compacted and covered with a thick layer of reinforced concrete, became the floor of the new garage. Walls, both external and internal were erected and two heritage green, roller doors, complete with remote control access were installed.

The final renovation job, the conversion of the garage into a self-contained flat for Beccy, occurred two years ago. Rebecca, then just seventeen years old, started to make ‘leaving home’ noises and Helen, who could not bear the thought of her baby ‘out there in the cold, cruel world all on her own’ cajoled, badgered and withheld conjical rights until John agreed to turn the garage under the house into a flat for their beloved daughter. She’s growing up Helen had explained, she needs a place of her own. A place where she can learn to be herself."

Chapter 6

Granger’s eleven week , basic army training went well. Though there was a clash of personalities with one of the instructors! Granger’s platoon had assembled for what was to be their first lesson in unarmed combat. The Drill Sergeant, an obnoxious, twenty-five year old, thick necked cretin named Cannon, asked if any of the new recruits had any martial arts experience, to which William responded in the affirmative.

Right then, commanded the Drill Sergeant, Lets see what you can do. By this time Granger had been training in both Aikido and Tai Kwon Do for nearly six years and had become extremely proficient in both forms. Out of necessity he held back, knowing that any injudicious attack from him could cause serious harm.

Don’t be a pussy, Granger, my Nana can fight better than that yelled Cannon and launched a swift, sharp jab aimed squarely at Granger’s jaw. Granger took the Drill Sergeant at his word, blocked the punch, directing the blow away from his body and dragging his assailants arm across and down, using his own momentum to pull Cannon off balance. William then quickly stepped behind him and kicked him in the back of the knee, sending him sprawling.

The drill Sergeant came to his feet swinging and launched a massive roundhouse kick to Granger’s head. It looked spectacular, more spectacular than effective in fact, and Granger simply blocked the kick upwards and then kicked Cannon’s other foot from under him.

The fight continued only for a few minutes but that was more than enough time for both combatants to land some pretty hefty blows and kicks. Despite all his training, Granger still came off second best and spent the next two days in sickbay nursing a badly bruised thigh, a cracked rib and a black eye that would have made Costa Tzu proud. From that moment on, and until Granger left the academy, Drill Sergeant Paul Cannon had it in for him. At every conceivable opportunity he made Granger’s life miserable. Whatever went wrong, it was Granger’s fault and in typical army fashion that meant his entire platoon would suffer. Granger learnt many valuable lessons during his time at Blamey Barracks. One of the most important was, that to many men, the most painful injury they can ever receive is to their ego.

Chapter 7

Stephanie Fiorelli eased herself into the enormous, puffy, pink armchair and sucked in the ambience of her new home, hissing audibly as she did so. Of course, she had been there before, many times. But on those previous occasions she had had other things on her mind. Other hotter, sweatier, juicier, more deliciously urgent things.

Even so, then as now, she had been aware of the predominance of pink. A breathtakingly, prissy, marshmallow pink that offended Stephanie’s senses every time she entered the room.

If it wasn’t pink to start with, Rebecca painted it or covered it with pink. Or if that was not possible then the offending item was colour coordinated in grey, blue or, at a pinch, black. The room was dominated by a huge king sized bed which was covered by a puffy, soft, frilly, you guessed it, pink doona, on which rested a plethora of stuffed toy animals. No one could ever accuse Beccy of being a dyke. She was simply just too girlie. The wall behind the bed had been painted and then covered with a multitude of photos, posters and drawings. These conspired together with a strangely disturbing, Peruvian wall hanging in an attempt to disguise the fact that the wall was, in reality, the inside of a pair of garage roller doors. At the foot of the bed sat the aforementioned puffy, pink armchair. Its clone sitting directly opposite on the other side. Both chairs aimed themselves more or less in the direction of a small ‘Goldstar’ TV.

On the Western wall there was a glossy grey door that opened into a short hallway. After a few paces the hallway morphed into a spiral staircase and then climbed twenty-six steps before finally erupting into the Livingstone’s dining room. The hallway also provided access, via doors along its left side, to the communal laundry and not so communal downstairs loo.

The Eastern wall also had a door. A heavy wooden affair, complete with double deadlocks and separate security grill. This door led out into the outside world. The real world. A world of greens and browns and reds and yellows and blues but mercifully, precious few fucking pinks.

There were bedside tables, lamps and lampshades, paintings and photos and a large two door wardrobe. There were books and magazines. CD’s and DVD’s, a small JVC entertainment unit and a dressing table, complete with a mirror at which the girls could do their make-up.

At this moment in time there was also three large cardboard boxes. These contained Stephanie’s belongings. Beccy had smiled and told her girlfriend, Just put your stuff wherever you can find a spot. There’s plenty of room. After nearly five days she still hadn’t been able to bring herself to do so.

Steffy picked up a huge pink, toy elephant and told it in no uncertain terms just what she thought of Beccy’s idea of plenty of room.

Whilst moving Stephanie into the Livingstone abode was relatively hassle free, Rebecca’s coming out of the closet proved to be much more of an ordeal.

You have to tell them today Stephanie had demanded the previous morning, It’s not going to get any easier. You never know, they might be perfectly okay about it. As it transpired the ‘coming out party’ didn’t eventuate for another eleven hours, but finally Rebecca bit the bullet, and with Stephanie holding her hand under the table, she dropped the bombshell. John and Helen Livingstone were shocked. Not because their daughter had just told them she was a lesbian, but because they couldn’t believe she hadn’t guessed they already knew.

Darling you and Stephanie are not exactly quiet when you are alone together, explained Helen turning lobster red at the thought of what she was alluding to. We’ve known for ages.

Shit Sis’ even Nanna refers to you as little miss edible loop pile chipped in Ian, Beccy’s obnoxious younger brother. We already know that if you were any more of a dyke you could hold back floodwaters.

Helen Livingstone scolded her younger offspring, assuring the girls that Nanna did not call her any such thing. We accept that you are a bit different from what some people might consider the norm, added Beccy’s mum and we don’t have a problem with it. After all, my sister, your auntie Karen is a uh! You know! How do I put it?

A Vagitarian? suggested John Livingstone.

Drives a Vulva? asked Stephanie.

Gets more beaver than a Canadian fur trapper, quipped Ian.

Chapter 8

William Granger’s first posting was to Enoggera barracks in Brisbane, Queensland. He was assigned to the procurement arm of the barracks, where he spent his days filling in endless requisition forms and lugging vast quantities of supplies in and out of the warehouse. The reality of army life was a far cry from the dream he had built up in his mind during his youth, but he remained optimistic, hoping that soon he would see some active service. This, together with the imminent arrival of the beautiful Linda, kept him content.

Three months later William and Linda were married by the army Chaplain. They enjoyed a simple wedding reception in the mess hall with all their friends and spent their weekend honeymoon on Magnetic Island. Less than three weeks later Linda announced that she was pretty certain she was pregnant. Granger was delighted.

Chapter 9

I ’ve had enough snapped Stephanie. Your fucking brother is driving me mad. Every time I take a shower he ‘accidentally’ walks in on me and has a perv. Steffy stormed around the bedroom, stamping her feet in frustration. He makes lewd comments at me all the time and if he calls me a ‘crack addict’ one more time I’ll nail his dick to the floor.

Rebecca turned her head to the wall and bit her lip to stop herself from laughing. Ian was an obnoxious little prick, but you had to admit, sometimes he was a funny, obnoxious little prick. Don’t take any notice of him, Hon’. He’s only fifteen and he’s just trying to find his place in the new pecking order around here. He feels challenged by you and he’s worried that he and I won’t be friends anymore.

Bullshit, your brother doesn’t know how to handle the fact that I’m a lesbian, OR as he so crudely puts it, a labia licker. Despite herself Stephanie started to chuckle. It was always that way, a few seconds of rage and then the old Steffy was back, laughing and clowning around.

Rug muncher, teased Beccy pulling her girlfriend down on to the bed and then belting her around the head with a pillow.

Licalottapuss countered Steffy. Returning fire

Cunning Linguist. THUMP.

Eater of fur burgers BIFF!

Dyke, THUD!

Rebecca wrapped her long legs around Stephanie’s waist and rolled over throwing the smaller girl onto her back. She pinned her arms to the bed and laughing, began to nibble at her neck. Slowly she worked her way southwards.

Help! giggled Steffy, I’m being devoured by a prehistoric Clitosaurus.

And I’m in a terrible dyke cottony. I just don’t know what to eat first

Oh shit, groaned Steffy, You’ve been hanging around your dipshit brother for too long. and pulled her girlfriend’s head back into the desired position. Let me help you there Beccy.

That was the good thing about being nineteen, still young enough to enjoy a good pillow fight but old enough to make the eventual truce and peace negotiations so much more exciting.

Later that evening the two girls went upstairs, as usual, to have dinner with Beccy’s family.

At last sneered Ian Mrs and Mrs Sixty nine have arrived. You know you two should form a rock band together, you could call yourselves The Fine Young C-nt Cannibals".

Beccy cringed and waited for Stephanie to explode. It didn’t happen, but then it didn’t have to.