The Girl in His Eyes

by Jennie Ensor

  After their conversation, Laura carried on washing up. Her mother’s voice lingered in her head. Mum hadn’t sounded herself at all, more like someone having a breakdown. If she had the strength, she might leave Dad. But most likely she wouldn’t. After a few weeks she would convince herself that he was going to change, and he’d never do any of those things again, and she’d give him one more chance. And if he had one more chance, what would happen? If no one reported him to the police, he would be free to go after other girls. Once again, she found herself imagining her father with Emma. Fucking a girl of twelve – how had he managed it? Had Emma struggled, or had she been too shocked and too scared to resist? Had he sweet-talked her into giving way, sapping her resistance bit by bit?

  It was too horrible to think about. The poor girl, she would have to carry this around with her for the rest of her life. Of course, Emma would probably try to forget it had ever happened. It wouldn’t work; the knowledge would make itself felt. Perhaps she would find it harder to trust people, and easier to think bad things about herself. The bad things men did wouldn’t surprise her. In one way or another, Emma’s life would be changed because of what Dad had done.

  Laura picked up the scouring pad to attack the grimy layer at the bottom of a saucepan. That awful feeling was back. Guilt struck at her core. There was no doubt; she should have stopped her father from going after Emma. He had lied to her about his intentions – all that guff about how he would never think of harming Emma. Why, oh why had she believed him? It was obvious, looking back, that her father would have tried to find a way to see Emma again. If only she hadn’t been so concerned about protecting her mother. Mum had found out the truth anyway, in the end.

  It was done now; there was nothing she could do to change the past. But she did have the power to change the future. Whatever else happened, her father couldn’t be allowed to get away with what he’d done to Emma.

  Only it looked like he was going to get away with it.

  She kept scrubbing, not noticing what she was doing she was so deep in thought.

  If Emma hadn’t told anyone at the time, and if she didn’t want to talk to the police, there would be no evidence against him. Her father wouldn’t be charged or prosecuted and he’d be free to carry on as before, wouldn’t he? How soon would it be before he found his next victim?

  Laura put down the saucepan and slowly dried her hands on a towel.

  What if she told the police what he’d done to her when she was a child?

  Her mind raced. The things he’d done to her in secret were crimes – indecently touching an underage girl, forcing her into a sexual act – they were serious crimes, surely, especially if that girl was his daughter.

  But, if she reported it now, ten years on, would the police take any notice? There was no evidence, no witness. She hadn’t kept a diary and she hadn’t told anyone about those things, not until years later. Her father would simply deny it all.

  Her heart began to speed up. A strange surge of excitement, almost exhilaration, went through her, along with an undercurrent of trepidation.

  Perhaps if she went to the police about what her father had done to her, it might convince Emma to go to the police too. Then they’d have to listen. Jane might change her mind about Emma giving evidence if it was by video link. If her father was found guilty of having sex with a child he’d be put away, surely. He’d be unable to harm any more girls for a good while. He’d be monitored afterwards, put on the sex offenders register. Even if he got off, or it didn’t get to court, at least the police would be alerted to her father and his predilections. Most of all, he would be forced to face himself and the things he’d done.

  It was scary, the thought of giving up her own father to the police, but she had to stop him from hurting anyone else. He couldn’t be allowed to get away with what he’d done.

  23

  Suzanne

  29 April 2011

  She stared at the blurred lime-green shape that had appeared in front of her, and realised it was a mug.

  ‘Here you are, m’dear. This’ll pep you up.’ Katherine smiled at her with coral lips, pleased about something. ‘That was David on the phone.’

  ‘David?’

  ‘He said he might drop by later. He’s staying in Chelsea for a conference. He’s got some cuttings for us.’

  She nodded, not getting what her friend meant. It was as if she’d been marooned for months on a remote island. Katherine was miles away. Her words floated by, one by one, out of reach.

  Katherine sat in the armchair opposite. Two converging creases appeared above her eyebrows.

  ‘You’re in a bad way, aren’t you, love? You’ve hardly said a word since you got here.’

  Suzanne took a sip of tea. It tasted quite unlike tea. She put down the mug.

  ‘I don’t know what to do,’ she said.

  ‘Give yourself time for things to settle. You can stay here for as long as you want to, you know that.’

  ‘Aren’t you supposed to be at work today? It’s Friday, isn’t it?’

  ‘I’m working Monday and Tuesday next week to make up. It’s alright, Suzy, I don’t mind. I can’t leave you alone while you’re like this.’

  She looked down at her hands lying limply in her lap. The thought that had filled her head for the past few days was back.

  ‘How could he have done those things? Every time I think of him … I can’t bear to think about it.’

  ‘It’s hard. You’ve just got to hang on in there, love.’

  Katherine disappeared. Her attention was drawn back to the sculpture that was staring at her from the mantelpiece: a warrior with a spear in his outstretched arm, and a frightful expression on his face. Suzanne looked away. Wherever her gaze landed, exotic objects plucked from Katherine and Jeremy’s travels popped disconcertingly into view. It hadn’t bothered her before, but today … The room’s maroon walls were oppressive, more suited to an opium den than a living room. She tried to concentrate on a beam of pure white light, imagine it washing over her, lifting the dreadful images from her mind.

  But it was no use. Paul’s mouth was on Emma’s belly button. His hand lay on her thigh, next to her pubic hair. Soon, he would put his fingers inside her most private, most sacred place. The same fingers he used to caress her own body.

  She bit down hard on her lip, tasted blood.

  ‘I’ve made some soup for lunch.’ Katherine’s head appeared at the door. ‘Will you have some?’

  ‘No thanks, I’m not hungry. But you go ahead.’

  ‘Are you sure? What about a sandwich?’

  The door closed. Suzanne listened to the muffled clatter of plates and saucepans coming from the kitchen. It was a relief to be left alone; she didn’t have to pretend she was coping when she wasn’t, or that everything would be alright when she knew it wouldn’t. She dug her nails into the top of her hand, imprinting a series of dark curves on her skin.

  Her husband had betrayed her as surely as if he’d had an affair. Only this was a thousand times worse.

  Well, he could sod off out of her life. She never wanted to see him again.

  No. How could she live without Paul? He was her blood, her backbone.

  She closed her eyes, felt herself drift away. She was brought back suddenly when Katherine burst into the room, holding a handset.

  ‘It’s Jane, for you.’

  She took the phone.

  ‘Jane?’ Her heart beat faster. Why did Jane want to speak to her? Had she told the police about Paul?

  ‘Hello, Suzanne.’ Curt, emotionless.

  ‘Jane, I’m so sorry I didn’t believe you—’

  ‘I didn’t call to make up with you.’ Her voice had the tone you’d use for someone you didn’t like. No, someone you hated.

  ‘I just wanted to ask you about something,’ Jane continued. ‘Has Paul abused anyone else besides Emma?’

  For a moment, she was tempted to lie.

  ‘Laura told me some things on the weekend that
I didn’t know before. I would have told you if I’d known.’

  ‘So, tell me, what did he do to Laura?’

  ‘I’m not going to go into the details, Jane. It was when she was about Emma’s age. He touched her. He did things that were … indecent.’

  ‘But you didn’t find out until a few days ago. You didn’t have any knowledge of it before, any suspicions? There was nothing you could have done to prevent Paul raping my daughter?’

  She felt herself shrivel. ‘No, there was nothing definite. Except …’

  ‘Except what?’ The question was barked at her, as if she were under interrogation.

  It would make things worse, she knew that before she opened her mouth.

  ‘They were just little things. The way he looked at young girls sometimes seemed … a bit odd. There was one time …’ She remembered the girl in the hotel restaurant and shivered. ‘But, Jane, I never imagined what he would do to Emma, not in a million years.’

  Jane laughed, a short, humourless croak. ‘Just like you never imagined him doing anything to your daughter?’

  The words struck her deep in the belly, pulling the air from her.

  ‘I’m not saying that what happened is your fault, Suzanne.’ Jane’s words sounded distorted, as if they were being strangled. ‘I was the one who trusted him with my daughter. I should have realised from the start how vulnerable she was, how—’ Jane stopped abruptly. When she spoke again, her voice was composed, hard-edged. ‘Anyhow, I’m sure you understand what I’m saying.’

  For a few moments, neither of them spoke.

  ‘Emma told me today that Laura came by to see me, the evening before Paul …’ Jane cut herself off. ‘… the evening before that day. She said Laura was worried that he might be up to something. She warned her not to be alone with him.’ Her tone sharpened. ‘Did you know that Laura came to see me?’

  ‘She mentioned it at the weekend – when she told me about Paul. I had no idea before that she suspected him. I would have said something if I’d known.’

  ‘I’ll have to take your word for that.’ A brief pause. ‘Well, I won’t disturb you any longer.’

  Suzanne hesitated. She tried to keep the anger and frustration out of her voice.

  ‘So, Emma didn’t tell you that Laura came over?’

  ‘She told me. I didn’t listen.’ A deep sigh at the other end of the line. ‘You may as well know the whole of it. I was delayed getting home from work that Friday. Emma tried to tell me that Laura had been over when I finally got home, but I didn’t take it in. Toby ran at me as soon as she started talking. He was in tears, saying that she’d hurt his arm – they’d been fighting again. I lost my rag with Emma, told her she was old enough to know better and sent her up to her room. Then a friend phoned and asked if I knew that Mandy had been suspended from school for spray painting the gym – the girl Emma was going to go shopping with on the Saturday. It was the last straw. I phoned Paul afterwards and told him to come over on Saturday after all, I needed him to keep an eye on Emma – I wasn’t having my daughter turn into a delinquent too. He texted Emma right away with his modelling bullshit, so I’ve found out, and she swallowed it.’

  She could almost hear Jane spit the final words into the phone. Before she could say anything, Jane carried on.

  ‘The silly girl didn’t try to tell me again about Laura coming over, and kept quiet about her warning not to be alone with your husband. She went off with him the next day because she was pissed off with me for getting mad at her – and she thought he could help turn her into Rosie fucking Huntingley-White.’

  She waited for Jane to catch her breath.

  ‘She didn’t dare tell me any of this until this morning, she was so scared I’d think badly of her. She thought that because Laura had warned her away from him, I would blame her for what happened.’

  ‘If only she’d …’ She didn’t dare to say the rest.

  ‘What?’

  If only Emma had listened to Laura, they wouldn’t be having this sodding conversation.

  ‘Oh, never mind.’ Emma had suffered enough already, and so had Jane, and what was done was done. ‘Jane, before you go.’ She braced herself for Jane’s reaction. ‘Have you talked to the police? Has Emma?’

  ‘Oh, so that’s what you’re worried about.’ A fake laugh. ‘You needn’t worry. I’m not going to make Emma go through any more than she has already. Endless questions from the police and lawyers … she doesn’t want to talk about it to them. She doesn’t want to give a load of total strangers a blow-by-blow account of how he humiliated her, and I don’t blame her. Frankly, she’s in no state to go through all that.’

  ‘How … how is she?’ As soon as she formed the words, she wished she could take them back.

  ‘Oh, please.’ Contempt. The voice had become a stranger’s. ‘I’m sorry, I have to go. I won’t be phoning again. Goodbye, Suzanne.’

  The phone clicked loudly in her ear.

  ‘Are you alright, love?’ Katherine put her head round the door. ‘What did Jane want? Suzy? What’s the matter?’

  Suzanne tried to meet her friend’s eyes, which were too kind. She’d felt she’d been knocked flat, a mouse mowed down by a lorry.

  ‘She’s not going to the police. And she blames me for what happened to Emma. Herself as well, but mainly me.’

  ‘Suzanne, listen to me. You’re not to blame and neither is Jane. Paul is. He’s the one who needs to get whatever’s coming to him.’ Katherine’s hand throttled a cushion as she spoke. She put it down and frisked dog hairs from her corduroy skirt. ‘How about a drink? You look like you need one.’

  ‘I’d murder a gin and tonic, Kat, if you’ve got any of that bottle of Gordon’s left.’

  ‘I’ll join you. Come and help me in the kitchen. It’s Jeremy’s bridge night so we’ll be alone for dinner, unless David wants to join us.’

  David? Oh, yes, the man from the party.

  ‘I don’t mind if you ask him,’ she said. She didn’t care one way or another.

  Suzanne pulled a layer of tough outer skin from the onion that was set out on the worktop. Taking a knife from the rack, she began to slice it.

  Katherine put her drink down beside the chopping board and stood there, rubbing her cheek thoughtfully.

  ‘Did Jane say why she’s not going to the police?’

  This couldn’t be happening. If she closed her eyes, and concentrated really hard, maybe it would all go away.

  ‘For Emma’s sake,’ she replied. ‘Jane doesn’t want her to have to go through a trial, all those questions. It would be too much of an ordeal.’

  ‘I don’t like to say this when you’re so upset,’ Katherine said, without hesitation, ‘but what about the next time he molests someone? They say that men who do these things often can’t stop. It’s like an addiction.’

  Suzanne drew a sharp breath. She concentrated on chopping the onion as finely as possible. Next time, Katherine had said, as if it were a foregone conclusion that there would be a next time. Paul wouldn’t do anything like this again, would he? Surely, now his depravity had been discovered, he’d have to stop.

  Then she was afraid. What if the police investigated and Paul were put on trial? What if he were sent to prison? He would never survive that.

  ‘Sorry, Suzy, but I have strong feelings about what Paul’s done. I think he’s dead lucky Jane hasn’t gone over there and walloped him. If it were my daughter, I’d be over there with a fucking carving knife, anything I could find. He deserves everything that’s coming to him, in my opinion.’

  A shrill ring interrupted them from the other side of the kitchen. Katherine picked up the phone on its third ring. ‘It’s your husband,’ she said curtly, scowling. ‘Will you take it?’

  ‘No, tell him I can’t talk to him.’ It was the third time he’d rung that day.

  Katherine frowned. ‘He says he has to talk to you.’

  ‘I don’t want to talk to him.’

  Katherine turned away
from her for a few moments, then put the phone back into its base. ‘He says he hopes you’re OK and he wants you to come home,’ she said, in a matter-of-fact voice. ‘And to call him as soon as you can.’

  Suzanne sliced a courgette in half and scored deep crevices into its moist flesh. It was Paul’s flesh, or her own, she didn’t know which. She picked up the salt shaker and ground in the white crystals with the flat of the blade.

  The front doorbell rang. Katherine wiped her hands on her apron and left the kitchen, pulling the door behind her. Suzanne strained to hear the voices from the hall; she could make out David’s bass voice below Katherine’s. Then the door opened and David stepped hesitantly into the kitchen, each hand grasping a plastic bag bulging with green shoots.

  ‘Hello, Suzanne. It’s good to see you again.’

  In a suit, David looked quite different from the man she’d met at the party, but his eyes were the same gentle blue. He bent down and put the bags on the mat against the back door.

  ‘If this is a bad time … I don’t want to intrude. I only came to drop these off.’

  ‘It’s alright. You’re not intruding.’

  He looked at her for a few moments. ‘Kate’s told me you’re going through a rough time at the moment.’

  She nodded, unable to think of anything to say.

  Katherine came in, holding a bottle of wine. ‘Have a drink, won’t you, David? And won’t you stay for dinner? It’ll be just the three of us, Jeremy won’t be back till late.’

  ‘I was going to have dinner at the hotel, but you could twist my arm. I’d much rather have dinner with you two ladies.’

  ‘My mushroom risotto isn’t bad,’ Katherine said, giving the frying pan on the hob a quick stir. ‘If I do say so myself.’

  ‘Yes,’ Suzanne added. ‘You’ll stay for dinner, won’t you? I’m not up to much conversation, I’m afraid, but Kat needs a respite from all my doom and gloom.’

  David took off his jacket. He would have to leave shortly after dinner, he said.

  Suzanne went upstairs. She was sleeping in Debbie’s old bedroom, which was decorated in a sugary pink. A glass tray on the dressing table contained a hotchpotch of girlie things: hair accessories, body paint, and oddly coloured lipsticks. The noticeboard on the wall was covered in photographs. Debbie as a little girl holding a kitten, grinning toothily. Debbie in her black graduation gown, shaking hands as she collected her certificate. Debbie in a long dress, grinning from ear to ear, a young man at her side.