The Girl in the Mirror

by Cathy Glass

  Five minutes later the train began to slow as the station approached. Mandy stood, then waited by the doors until the train stopped. The doors opened and she got out, her pulse quickening and her breath coming fast and shallow. She looked the length of the platform and then followed the dozen or so passengers who were walking towards the exit barrier. She’d never used this station before; it was on a different network to the one she used when she visited her grandparents, twelve miles away. She fed her ticket into the turnstile and then followed the signs to the ladies’ WC.

  A few minutes later she was outside on the station forecourt, which was exactly as the Internet map showed. She went past the taxi rank and joined a woman waiting at the bus stop for the number 247. According to the timetable she’d downloaded the bus ran every fifteen minutes on a weekday, starting at two minutes past the hour. Keeping her gaze away from the woman so she wouldn’t be drawn into conversation, Mandy concentrated on the ground. Her thoughts returned to Jimmy. She checked her mobile again. The time was 1.55. What was he doing now? If he was at work when she arrived it could be many hours before he returned and she wondered where she should wait. Her stomach contracted with anxiety as she pictured his wife asking her what she wanted and her offering the excuse she’d concocted that she was carrying out a survey.

  ‘At last,’ the woman next to her sighed.

  Mandy looked up and saw the 247 coming towards them. It drew to a halt and the door swished open. The woman before her got on and Mandy followed her up the steps. ‘Return to Cranberry Avenue,’ she heard herself say and gave the driver £2. She knew from the map Cranberry Avenue was the nearest stop to where Jimmy lived. She took the 40p change and made her way down the aisle.

  There were only half a dozen passengers downstairs and she went halfway down the aisle and slid into a window seat. Taking the street map from her bag she opened it on her lap. She’d marked the train station and Jimmy’s address with a Biro. She knew the route the bus would take and the stopping points from the printed timetable, and that it would take twenty minutes. After that she had about a five-minute walk to Jimmy’s house. Her pulse raced and her stomach churned. She took a deep breath and reminded herself she didn’t have to go to his house and confront him – that if it all became too much she could go straight to the police, which is doubtless what Adam would have advised her to do had she told him. But confronting Jimmy was essential if she was ever going to move on, and she knew it had to be done before she reported him; after that he would be able to hide behind legal protocol and then his barrister in court. Confronting Jimmy wasn’t something Adam would have understood, nor would anyone else who hadn’t been in her position. It was about taking control of her life again and making the abuser responsible for his crime.

  Mandy looked between the map and the streets passing outside, tracking the bus’s stop-start journey. They had left the town and were now entering the outlying suburbs: rows of 1970s’ semi- and detached houses with integral garages and neatly tended front gardens. It was nothing like the private road in which John and Evelyn lived, but it was pleasant and had an air of suburban respectability. Mandy felt another stab of anger that Jimmy had been allowed to continue his comfortable and respectable life uninterrupted for the last ten years, and she wondered again if he ever thought about what he’d done to her.

  From her seat by the window she saw the boys’ school and then the playing fields. She knew she was getting close. She began counting down the stops, checking the map, mentally ticking off the roads they passed: Rose Way, Tulip Close, Thorn End; she knew the next stop was hers. She stood and made her way to the platform at the centre of the bus and held the handrail as the bus shuddered to a halt. The doors swished open and she stepped on to the pavement followed by another passenger who headed in the opposite direction. With the map open before her Mandy walked along Cranberry Avenue and then took the second on the left. This was Berry Lane, although clearly it wasn’t a lane but another road of similar 1970s houses. She followed it for about thirty yards as it curved to the left and then she stopped at the corner. The next turning on the right was Jimmy’s. Jimmy. How she’d come to loathe that name since Evelyn had first spoken it and told her: Mandy, it wasn’t John who came into your room that night and attacked you; it was his brother, Jimmy, and Mandy had been forced to remember.

  She stood on the corner of the street, folded the map in half and tucked it into her bag. She checked her phone and then switched it off. She didn’t want to be disturbed by the phone suddenly ringing and interrupting what she had to say; she needed everything to be calm with her firmly in control. Taking another deep breath and summoning all her courage, Mandy looped her bag over her shoulder and made the right turn into Hawthorn Drive. The first house was number 2, so she was on the correct side of the road for Jimmy’s: number 22. With her stomach tight and her legs heavy she put one foot in front of the other and continued steadily along the pavement, bracing herself for what she might see. The road was quiet and appeared to be on the very edge of the estate; she could see fields in the distance. Doubtless it was deemed a desirable area, Mandy thought bitterly as she scanned the front door at the end of each drive for the house numbers. She passed number 12. Four more to go until Jimmy’s. Fourteen, 16, 18…Her heart thumped loudly. It wasn’t the sort of street you could loiter in without attracting attention, not like a London street corner where you could wait almost indefinitely. Twenty, then 22. She saw the house. Panic gripped her. Quickening her pace she continued past, taking in what she saw. A small, respectable 1970s detached house, with a neatly mowed lawn and short drive leading to a garage, the same as all the other houses in the road. Could he really live in there? It seemed impossible. She didn’t know what she’d expected to find but it wasn’t this; not normality and conformity. Net curtains had hung at all the windows in his house, as they did in many others, so she hadn’t been able to catch a glimpse of the inside.

  Forcing herself to slow to a walking pace, Mandy continued up the road. Her breath was coming fast and shallow and her pulse beat wildly in her chest. She hadn’t expected to be so affected by seeing his house. When she’d run through the possible outcomes in her head she’d always seen herself as anxious but composed. Now she was beside herself and wanted to get on the next bus home.

  She finally came to a halt outside number 60. She stood in the centre of the pavement, took deep breaths and told herself to calm down.

  ‘Can I help you?’ a woman asked, suddenly bobbing up from tending her front garden. Mandy jumped. ‘You look lost,’ she said.

  ‘No, I’m all right. Thank you,’ Mandy stammered. ‘I know where I’m going.’ She turned and started back down the street, towards his house. The woman watched her go.

  Mandy knew if she went past his house again and put it off any longer she would lose her nerve completely and go home, never to return. She couldn’t go through this again. She began counting down the houses she passed: Fifty-two, 50, 48, 46…She drove her legs forward, towards Jimmy’s house, trying to keep her breathing even. Thirty, 28, 26, 24, 22, a small hesitation and she forced herself to make the left turn into Jimmy’s drive. Keeping her gaze fixed straight ahead and her thoughts in check, Mandy went down the path beside the short drive and up to his front door.

  She saw her hand in the air waver slightly, and then her forefinger went towards the bell and pressed it. One short sharp burst – she heard it ring inside – and then silence. She waited, trying to calm her pounding heart. Perhaps they were all out. Relief mingled with disappointment. Then she saw a faint movement behind the frosted-glass panel door. She stared at the door and steeled herself. The lock turned with a small click and the door opened.

  A girl in her early teens, dressed in school uniform, looked at her questioningly. All of Mandy’s well-practised opening lines vanished and her mind went blank. ‘Yes?’ the girl asked after a moment. ‘Can I help you?’

  Mandy forced herself to say the words she’d rehearsed so many times. �
�I’d like to speak to Mr Osborne, please. Jimmy Osborne. Is he in?’

  The girl’s expression changed from polite enquiry to confusion, and then suspicion. ‘Why? What do you want?’ she asked brusquely – defensively, Mandy thought.

  ‘I’d like to speak to him, please. It’s personal.’ She heard her voice quiver.

  The girl hesitated and stared at her, quite clearly shocked. ‘No, you can’t speak to him,’ she said. ‘I’ll get my mother.’

  The door closed in Mandy’s face.

  Thirty-Seven

  Acold chill settled down Mandy’s spine and her heart beat loudly in her chest. This wasn’t going to plan, not at all. There was something wrong. The expression on his daughter’s face wasn’t what Mandy had expected, and neither was her response. It wasn’t appropriate. His daughter had appeared shocked and confused, but why? Mandy had only asked to see her father; what had made her so worried and defensive? Why had she said no? Why hadn’t she just told Mandy he wasn’t home? No, this wasn’t going to plan at all, and she didn’t understand why. Don’t panic, she told herself; when his wife comes simply ask for him.

  The door opened again and, unlike his daughter, whom Mandy hadn’t recognized from ten years earlier, his wife did look vaguely familiar. ‘I’m sorry you’ve been disturbed,’ Mandy said straight away. ‘It was Mr Osborne I wanted to speak to.’

  Mrs Osborne was short and petite, with chin-length brown hair. Her skin was pale, she wore no make-up and her gaze was expressionless. ‘What’s it in connection with?’ she asked, with the same edge of defensiveness her daughter had used.

  ‘It’s personal.’ Mandy said too quickly, abruptly, and then added, ‘I really need to speak to him, please.’

  The woman held her gaze. Her daughter appeared behind her further down the hall. There was silence for what seemed like hours. Then she seemed to gather herself and, straightening her shoulders, almost looked through Mandy. With resignation – as though she was repeating something she’d had to say many times before – she said: ‘I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but my husband is dead.’

  Mandy heard the words but didn’t believe them. It’s a lie, she thought, a conspiracy to stop me from seeing him and confronting him with the truth. Someone has warned her I’m coming. He’s hiding inside the house. She looked past his wife and down the hall to his daughter. Both women were looking at her, their expressions very serious. Mandy began to wonder if it could be true. Was Jimmy really dead? ‘Dead?’ she repeated. Mrs Osborne nodded. ‘But he can’t be. I need to see him. How am I going to deal with all this now?’ She felt the colour drain from her face and her head began to spin. She grabbed the edge of the door to steady herself.

  ‘Are you all right?’ his wife asked, stepping forward and holding her arm. ‘Do you want to sit down?’

  Mandy nodded. The walls of the porch were tilting and felt as if they were closing in.

  ‘Come in, through here.’

  Mandy allowed herself to be led over the doorstep and into the lounge at the front of the house. ‘Sit down,’ she heard Mrs Osborne say, then to her daughter:‘Hannah, can you bring a glass of water, please?’

  Mandy sat on the sofa with her head down and took deep breaths. She thought she was going to faint from the shock of what she had been told. Jimmy was dead and had therefore escaped, and for a moment she wished she was dead too.

  Raising her head slightly, Mandy accepted the glass of water Hannah brought, and mother and daughter watched as she took a few sips. Gradually the room lost its tilt and she felt less sick. She raised her head further and leant back on the sofa. ‘Thank you,’ she said, looking at his wife. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Sorry for what?’ Hannah asked, almost pouncing on her. Mandy saw her mother throw her a warning glance.

  ‘For being such a nuisance.’ She took another sip of water and looked up at the two of them standing in front of her. ’It was kind of you to ask me in.’

  Neither of the women spoke. Mandy looked from one to the other. They were waiting for an explanation as to why she’d arrived asking for Jimmy. She wasn’t sure she could, or should, give it now. It was obvious Mrs Osborne hadn’t recognized her, and part of her said she should just leave, while another part said she should stay and confront her. Mrs Osborne had been there on the night of the attack and had presumably stayed married to Jimmy afterwards. Didn’t she have a duty to tell her what she knew?

  ‘How long ago did Mr Osborne die?’ Mandy asked after a moment, looking at Mrs Osborne.

  ‘Four months,’ she said, as though it was a figure she held constantly in her head.

  Mandy gave a small nod and looked at the glass in her hand. She knew she should really offer her condolences but couldn’t bring herself to utter them. She wondered if John knew his brother was dead, and if he did, why he or Evelyn hadn’t told her.

  Mandy looked up from the glass to Mrs Osborne and before she had the chance to change her mind said: ‘I’m Mandy, John’s niece.’

  Both women stared at her in disbelief. ‘Mandy?’ his wife repeated, clearly shocked. Hannah had visibly paled, which was odd, for while Mandy would have expected Mrs Osborne to have remembered her and what had happened, Hannah had been far too young. Had she heard her parents talk of her? Had they discussed what had happened?

  ‘What do you want?’ his widow asked, her voice slight and uneven.

  Mandy paused. ‘Does my uncle John know he is dead?’

  Mrs Osborne glanced at her daughter before replying. ‘No. Jimmy had been ostracized by John and his family. I saw no reason to tell them. Why?’

  ‘And their mother?’ Mandy asked, ignoring her question. ‘She’s in a nursing home. Did you tell her?’

  Another glance between mother and daughter before Mrs Osborne answered: ‘I phoned the nursing home and the matron said she would tell her. But his mother has advanced Alzheimer’s so she wouldn’t have remembered. What do you want, Mandy? Tell me, please, or leave.’

  Mandy heard the edge of desperation in Mrs Osborne’s voice. She and Hannah were still looking at her; they seemed almost fearful of her intentions.

  ‘Do you know what happened to me?’ Mandy asked quietly after a moment, looking at his widow.

  She nodded solemnly.

  Mandy looked at his daughter. ‘Do you, Hannah?’

  ‘Both my daughters know now,’ Mrs Osborne said. ‘I told them last year.’

  There was another silence. Then Mrs Osborne moved from beside her daughter to sit with Mandy on the sofa. ‘Mandy,’ she said slowly, gently, partly turning towards her. ‘Tell me why you’ve come here and perhaps I can help you. You’re looking for Jimmy, but why now, after all these years?’

  Mandy met her gaze. ‘I came here to confront him. I know this sounds crazy but I didn’t know what had happened on that night until last week, when I suddenly remembered. My mind had blotted it all out – a type of amnesia – and no one had told me. My parents never spoke of it and neither did my grandparents. My father stopped us seeing Evelyn, John and Sarah, and I never knew why. Then a month ago my dear grandpa became very ill and I went to stay at Evelyn’s to help nurse him. It was the first time I’d returned to that house since the night Jimmy…’ She couldn’t bring herself to say it even now. ‘As soon as I walked in I started having strange thoughts – flashbacks to the last time I’d stayed, ten years before. Then I remembered what had happened. I’m still trying to come to terms with it.’ She paused. ‘Dear Grandpa died last week.’

  ‘I’m sorry. He was a lovely man, a real gentleman.’ Mrs Osborne sounded genuinely sorry.

  Mandy nodded. ‘Since then, since I remembered, I’ve been in turmoil. I’m confused, angry and upset. It’s like an open wound. Because I never dealt with the pain and anger at the time I’m having to deal with it now. I am feeling now what I should have felt then. I came here wanting to confront Jimmy and force him to realize what he’d done to me, then I was going to report him to the police. I know ten years is a long
time, but he’s never been punished and he should have been. I needed him to be. That’s what I thought, anyway.’ She stopped and felt utterly defeated.

  There was a long silence that seemed to stretch back ten years. Mandy concentrated on the glass of water in her hand and felt the weight of Mrs Osborne and her daughter’s gaze on her. Then she heard Mrs Osborne take a breath. ‘Mandy, would it help you if I told you what happened that night?’

  Mandy looked up and saw Mrs Osborne’s pain and regret. ‘Yes, I think it would.’

  She nodded and looked at her daughter. ‘Hannah, if you don’t want to hear this again, I suggest you leave the room.’

  ‘I’ll stay,’ she said with a shrug, and sat in the armchair.

  Mandy returned her gaze to Mrs Osborne and waited. For a few seconds nothing could be heard but the tick of the clock on the wall as Mrs Osborne stared at a spot on the floor a little way in front of her. Then with a sharp intake of breath she began, her voice flat and carefully controlled. Mandy knew that the image of what happened that night was as vivid now for Mrs Osborne as it had been ten years ago.

  ‘We were staying at Evelyn and John’s for the weekend. It was a hot day – scorching hot, and we’d all been in the garden until very late. The girls wouldn’t settle in a room on their own in a strange house so I was sleeping with them. Hannah was three at the time and Vanessa was eighteen months. Vanessa is eleven now and is at her friend’s for tea. Hannah is thirteen.’ She nodded towards her daughter. ‘I slept in a room with the girls and Jimmy slept in another room further along the landing. That house was so big we could have had a room each if we’d wanted.’ She smiled reflectively. ‘John did very well for himself, far better than Jimmy, in all respects.

  ‘I was fast asleep in the middle of the double bed with Vanessa on one side and Hannah on the other. Suddenly I was woken by Jimmy roughly shaking my shoulder and telling me we all had to get dressed and go. I thought it was some sort of joke to begin with and told him to be quiet as he would wake the girls. He began pulling the duvet off and then dragging me out of bed. I realized it wasn’t a joke. The girls were waking and were very upset. He was very agitated and kept tugging at me and repeating we had to get dressed quickly and go.’