The Girl in His Eyes

by Jennie Ensor

  It came to her, then. Something had been trying to come into her mind since Katherine’s party. That day, years ago. She’d yelled ‘dinner’s ready!’ several times, but neither Paul nor Laura had answered. Flustered, she’d opened the living room door to find Paul sitting on the sofa, reading an Edward Lear poem to Laura, sitting beside him. Both completely absorbed – neither looking up as she entered the room – just as Paul and that girl had been at the party. Afterwards she’d scolded herself for her sudden jealousy, told herself this was wrong, she shouldn’t be jealous of her own daughter.

  There’d been other times too, when she’d felt excluded and even a little envious. Paul would be so eager to leave the house to pick up his daughter from her ballet class or swimming lesson, or he’d be so focussed on helping her with her homework he’d scarcely notice anything else. And that sailing holiday, the summer after Laura had turned thirteen. How many times had she noticed Paul watching her with that mournful expression? He regretted, she’d imagined, that his daughter was no longer the little girl who wanted him to read poems to her, but was on her way to becoming an adult. He hadn’t confided in her, his wife, though. She’d been an intruder into his private grief.

  The minute hand of the mantelpiece clock jerked forward, another step on its long journey towards the hour.

  Suzanne made a gap in the curtains and looked out. A white van passed, then a woman on a bicycle. She came away from the window.

  ‘How did it go at work today?’ She made an effort to sound cheerful.

  ‘Not great. Too many meetings, too much hassle. Usual story.’

  She smelled beer on his breath. ‘I didn’t know you were going to be late. Did you go to the pub?’

  He dropped his coat on the banister and walked towards the kitchen. ‘A few of us stopped for a drink in the Red Lion. It was Tim’s last day.’

  ‘Oh Paul, hang on a sec. There’s something I need to ask you.’

  Is there someone else? Another woman?

  But she couldn’t say it. Not here, not now.

  Paul frowned. ‘What is it?’

  ‘There’s a dead spider in the lounge, under the dictionary. You couldn’t …’

  He smiled. ‘Don’t worry, darling, I’ll take care of it.’

  As so often happened after a day at work, Paul was half asleep soon after they had finished eating. They went to bed early.

  ‘Suze, darling,’ he began, coming up behind her as she took off her make-up. ‘I want to apologise for being so grizzly. Things are frantic at work right now.’ He unbuttoned his shirt. ‘I’ve had to call a meeting for tomorrow morning to sort out what we’re going to put in this new release. The customer is putting the screws on us, big time. They want us to put a stack of changes in the software or they’re going to take us to court. Our guys say it’s too much work. I’ve been running around like a maniac trying to deal with all this shit.’

  ‘I know it’s been hard for you at work,’ she said. ‘But you’ve been so distant lately. And when I saw you and that girl at the party—’

  ‘Suzy, Suzy.’ He kissed the back of her neck. ‘I know I’m not the husband I should be. I know I behave like a fucking idiot sometimes. You’re a wonderful woman, I don’t deserve you. But, darling.’ She turned to face him. ‘There’s no room for anyone else. I love you, Suze. Don’t you know? I couldn’t bear to be without you.’

  They lay in bed, in the dark. Despite the rational, sceptical part of herself, she was reassured by Paul’s words. She closed her eyes, enjoying his warmth and the gentle pressure of his arms wrapped around her.

  3

  Paul

  8 January 2011

  ‘Hello, long time no see.’ Jane greeted him with a pallid smile. ‘Come on in.’

  Her hair was tied back severely. Her once attractive face was pale, almost haggard. Dark shadows hung around her eyes. She wore an unflattering sweatshirt and baggy tracksuit pants. She was still slim, though.

  Paul stepped into the hall. Music bleated in his ears from behind a closed door, the banal repetitive beat thankfully muffled.

  ‘It’s so good of you to do this, Paul. I felt bad about asking, but I thought … Honestly, I didn’t know who else to turn to. My friends are fed up with me asking for favours.’

  ‘It’s absolutely no problem at all, my dear.’ He gave her his most dazzling smile. ‘I’m at the pool most Saturdays, it’s the least I can do. It’s a pleasure to help.’

  ‘I just hope Emma will be better behaved with you.’ A slow heave of the shoulders. Jane’s sigh conveyed all the miseries of single motherhood. ‘She’s had a fight with Toby already this morning and she’s refused to tidy her room or do anything I ask. I’m at my wits’ end with her.’

  He followed her into the living room. There was barely any space left on the carpet for the agglomeration of toy dumper trucks, Glamour magazines, Blu-ray cases and sheets of crayon-streaked paper.

  Emma was strewn across the sofa, watching TV. Beside her, a cheap beaded necklace and an empty bottle of Fanta lemonade. She wore faded jeans, white Nikes, and a sweatshirt with GAP emblazoned across the front.

  ‘Paul’s here, Emma. For God’s sake, turn that thing down.’

  He hadn’t seen her for at least a year, so he’d expected a few changes. But this girl he hardly recognised. He knew she was only twelve, yet she could have been fourteen. Her skin was flawless. Her hair shimmied down her back, thick and glossy brown like a model’s in a L’Oréal advert. Gone was the awkward, gangly girl he remembered from Jane’s dinner parties, back when Neil was around. Something else had emerged, poised and self-aware.

  ‘Hi, Emma.’

  ‘Hi.’ She turned her head to him, smiled reluctantly and turned back to the TV.

  Jane checked her watch. ‘Have you got your swimming things ready, Emma?’

  ‘They’re upstairs. Can I just watch the end of this programme? There’s only a few minutes to go.’

  ‘No, Emma! Please turn the TV off now and get your things.’ Jane’s voice sounded infinitely weary.

  Emma glared at her mother, dragged herself off the sofa and flounced out of the room.

  Jane bent to pick up a glass from the floor. ‘I hope she won’t be any trouble, Paul. If she is, let me know.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I don’t think Emma will act up with me. Anyway, I’ve had my own stroppy teenage daughter to deal with, remember.’

  A paper-thin smile didn’t erase the weariness from Jane’s face.

  ‘I can’t thank you enough for your help,’ she said. ‘She’d be stuck in her room all day if you weren’t taking her out.’

  ‘It’s no trouble,’ he repeated. ‘Believe me.’

  Two minutes later Emma reappeared with a faux-fur trimmed jacket over her jeans, and a pink and silver striped bag hanging from her shoulder. The three of them clustered at the front door.

  ‘Bye, Em. Have a good swim, won’t you?’

  Emma ignored her mother. She leaned against the wall, examining her nails with a bored expression. Her bottom lip stuck out sulkily.

  ‘See you later, Jane.’ He opened the front door. ‘Come on, you. Let’s go swim.’

  Emma climbed into the Porsche, put on her seat belt and yawned.

  ‘How long are we going to swim for?’

  ‘It depends.’ He started the engine. ‘Usually I swim for three quarters of an hour. How long do you want to swim for?’

  She shrugged.

  He smiled. She could be as difficult as she wanted. He could handle anything this girl could throw at him.

  ‘Do you want to choose a CD?’

  ‘Mmm.’ She scanned the titles without interest.

  ‘How about the Rolling Stones? Or Fleetwood Mac, Pink Floyd, Stevie Winwood?’

  She wrinkled her nose.

  He turned on the radio. Billy Joel was singing ‘Uptown Girl’. She probably wouldn’t like that either, but it was too bad.

  They inched their way through congested Putney, past thicker than u
sual crowds of Saturday shoppers. A week into January, the sales were pulling nicely.

  ‘How far can you swim?’ he asked after he’d parked at the health club.

  Emma shrugged again. ‘Not far. I’m not very good at swimming. I hate water in my ears.’

  ‘That’ll change when you get more confident in the water. I’ll have you swimming up and down the pool in no time, I bet.’

  She looked at him, stony faced, and reached for her bag.

  He signed her in at reception without trouble – fortunately they relaxed their ‘no under 16s’ rule at weekends. Emma said nothing as they walked to the changing rooms. He could understand her lack of enthusiasm, it didn’t bother him. The girl knew him only as a friend of her mother’s, another adult on the fringes of her world. She probably wished it could be her father taking her swimming instead.

  Paul waited for Emma at the tiled entrance to the pool, just past the shower and the foot bath. He glanced down at his belly, dented the skin with his fingers.

  Good enough, he thought. Not quite as flat and firm as it used to be, but overall, he was in good shape. He had no excess fat and his muscles were strong from his weekly workouts. Emma would see he looked after himself – he wasn’t one of that crowd of lard-arses, at the wrong end of middle-age, who came here to splash around and hang out in the steam room, kidding themselves they were still twenty-five.

  After ten minutes, Emma still hadn’t come out. He was about to go in and check she hadn’t run off, when she appeared before him, hair hidden under a rubber cap, a red Lycra costume clinging to her slim white body. Her nascent breasts were encased by the fabric, which allowed a discreet rise at her chest, nothing more. Her face showed a tinge of shyness.

  ‘Nice costume. Is it new?’

  She shrugged – a twitch of shoulder with the slightest curl of her lower lip. ‘Not really.’

  He led Emma to the shallow end, where a collection of mothers and small children dotted the casual swimming area. Goggled swimmers zipped up and down the cordoned-off section. A lifeguard sat motionless in a chair.

  ‘Coming in?’

  Emma stood at the edge of the pool, hands on hips, studying the water with a look of disdain.

  He walked slowly over to one of the faster lanes and dived in, striking the surface cleanly and gliding as far as he could. He emerged, arms slicing effortlessly through the water, legs propelling him, an efficient and powerful machine. This was his chance to impress her. He was in his element in the pool, no longer a man of fifty-three, with greying hair and a large number of titanium teeth, but a swimming champion. It might be nearly forty years since he won the title, yet he could still out-swim most people.

  At the other end, he looked for Emma. She was sitting disconsolately on the edge of the pool, head down, feet dangling in the water, ignoring his performance. He swam back, stopping a short distance from her.

  ‘Aren’t you coming in?’

  She looked at him as if he were an idiot, then back at the water. ‘It’s cold.’

  ‘No it’s not!’ He scooped up some water with his hands and sent it in her direction. She made a face as a hail of drops struck her. ‘Come in, scaredy cat! It’s only water.’

  She slid down, grimacing, and attempted a few strokes of front crawl. Her arms generated more splash than motion.

  ‘Can I make a suggestion?’ He demonstrated how her arms should strike the water. ‘You try now.’

  It was better this time. She turned back to him with a hesitant smile.

  ‘You’re getting it,’ he said. ‘Kick a bit more.’ She got the knack after a while, though she still insisted on sticking up her head as she swam. ‘Okay,’ he coaxed. ‘Can you swim all the way to the other end? Take it easy, don’t rush.’

  He swam alongside her until she lunged for the side of the pool.

  ‘Made it!’

  ‘That’s a girl! You’re a quick learner. At this rate, you’ll be able to swim a whole length next time.’

  Surprise and delight flashed across her face. She responded to his praise like a plant to the sun. There was a long way to go before she became a half-decent swimmer, though.

  He watched her swim some more, calling out suggestions from time to time. An elderly woman swimming on her own gave him a friendly nod.

  She thinks I’m Emma’s father.

  None of the other swimmers seemed to suspect anything either. Why would they? There was no sticker on his forehead announcing: THIS MAN CAN’T BE TRUSTED. In any case, he told himself, he had no intentions towards this girl other than to help her swim better, and for her to enjoy their outings. Anything else wasn’t worth the risk.

  ‘I’m tired,’ Emma announced after less than fifteen minutes. ‘I want to get out now.’

  ‘Okay.’ Paul pointed to the café tucked behind a glass wall. ‘Get changed and wait over there for me, okay? I’m going to swim a few laps.’

  He watched her swim over to the steps, climb out and remove her cap. Damp hair tumbled down her back. Before she turned away, he saw the outline of her breasts under her costume. For a split second he could see her naked.

  He pushed himself off the wall and swam lengths as hard as he could, until his arms ached.

  When he saw Emma again, her hair was blow-dried straight and her lips were glossed. She sat with her elbows on the table, studying the menu.

  ‘Can I have something to eat?’

  She pleaded with her big brown eyes. Something about her reminded him of Laura at that age. He forced his mind back to Emma’s question.

  ‘What would you like?’

  Instantly, her face brightened. ‘Coke and chocolate fudge cake, please.’

  He sipped his coffee as Emma consumed her cake in large, almost continuous, mouthfuls, ignoring the fork he’d got for her. She ate as if the cake was the only thing that mattered in the world. Her fingers became flecked with brown. A brown smear appeared below her mouth. Crumbs fell into her lap.

  Their outing had gone okay, hadn’t it? He considered. She hadn’t been badly behaved, only a little offhand. That would change, next time. Maybe. The girl seemed to like him, but she wasn’t sure of him yet. She would let him see a glimmer of her real self, and then retreat, afraid of letting him get too close. But she would start enjoying herself soon enough. They were only on the first square of the board.

  ‘What did you do for Christmas?’

  ‘Granny and Granddad came over.’ Emma frowned, swallowing cake. ‘Then we went to stay with my uncle.’

  ‘What about the rest of the holidays? Got any plans?’

  A roll of the lower lip. ‘Don’t know. Watch some DVDs. Maybe go ice skating.’

  It didn’t matter if they didn’t talk. Silence was fine.

  He watched the last piece of cake disappear into her mouth. Emma slurped Coke through her straw, meeting his eyes. He couldn’t help smiling. What was it about her? She was just as Laura had been – floating inside her own secret world, a mysterious, ever-changing creature.

  Emma licked each finger in turn then wiped her mouth with the paper napkin. Without warning, a smile transformed her sullen face – a come-and-get-me smile, he thought. As if she was daring him to react, to do something. Was she playing with him? Or was it just his imagination?

  ‘Do you like school?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I don’t like the teachers, and the subjects are so boring. I hate having to learn things I don’t like.’

  ‘There’s no subject you like?’

  She took a while to answer. ‘I like art. And sport.’

  ‘What’s your favourite?’

  ‘Netball.’

  ‘Do you have lots of friends at school?’

  ‘Hannah’s my best friend.’ She coiled an elastic hair band around her finger. Her voice was low and musical, a rain of silky notes. ‘My other friends are Zara and Kylie. And Mandy, sometimes. But my mum doesn’t like her, she’s always getting into trouble at school.’ />
  ‘Do you see your friends during the holidays?’

  She hesitated. ‘Sometimes we go to each other’s houses and stuff. I go to them if Mum can take me – she doesn’t let me go on the train on my own. Anyway, I usually have to look after my little brother when she’s out at work.’

  ‘That’s not so easy, I guess. Little brothers can be tough. I didn’t have a brother but my two sisters were bad enough.’ He waited for her to respond, not wanting to turn the conversation into an interrogation. But she’d turned her attention to her Coke.

  He wondered how it would end, their first outing together. Would it be their only outing? That would be up to Emma, partly. Jane wouldn’t force Emma to come to the pool with him if she told her she’d hated it.

  Suddenly, the thought of Emma not wanting to swim with him again was unbearable. He knew it was gaining strength, this urge inside him. He knew he should tell Jane he wouldn’t be able to take Emma to the pool again. He was too busy, or she was too difficult, any excuse would be fine. It would be the right thing to do. Then there would be nothing to tempt him.

  ‘I enjoyed our swim, Emma,’ he said as they got up from the table. ‘I’d like to do it again soon, if you would?’

  It was the other man who had spoken. The man who had no concern about the consequences of his actions. The man whose needs could not be denied indefinitely, who was waiting impatiently for his next fix. The man prepared to sacrifice everything for the impossible joy of a girl in her first bloom.

  Emma looked at him gravely. He prepared himself for disappointment. She didn’t like him, or she sensed somehow what was on his mind. Or maybe she would refuse to go with him again just to spite her mother, who thought swimming with this boring older guy would be good for her.

  ‘Yeah, okay.’ Quietly, yet without hesitation.