And then the storm breaks and my ears fill with a deafening roar.
22
JULES
Jules and Maria Shimwell sat in Saffie’s bedroom. Maria spent some time explaining to the girl that Harry Bell had been questioned about his relationship with her and was being held at the police station. She had also warned Jules that it might be hard for her to hear some of what Saffie had to say but that she should let Maria do her job.
‘He won’t be allowed anywhere near you again,’ Maria said. ‘So you can rest assured that you’re safe to talk. He’s the one in trouble. You can tell us anything.’
Saffie looked from her mother to the young, strawberry-blonde police officer and said, ‘It’s so embarrassing. It’s so terrible.’
‘It’s important you try to explain what happened between you,’ Maria said. ‘Take as much time as you need. Perhaps try and start at the beginning. How you first became . . . friends with him?’
Saffie appeared to address her words to the teddy bear she was twisting about on her lap, the one Saul had given her as a baby.
‘Everyone fancied Mr Bell,’ she said. ‘It wasn’t just me.’
‘No one’s blaming you, remember,’ Maria said. ‘You’re not to worry about that. But it will help us a lot if you can tell us as much as you’re able to.’
‘We kind of joked about it at first,’ Saffie said. ‘Me and Gemma and Freya. We all said we loved him. We wrote notes about it. I don’t know if he knew. But then I found out he loved me. More than them. He asked me to stay behind after extra maths. He said I was beautiful. He said he had feelings for me.’
Jules felt winded. Hearing this was like a blow to the chest. How could she not have known? Weren’t mothers supposed to have a sixth sense when their child was in danger? She wanted to pull Saffie to her, but Maria glanced at her, and Jules took a deep breath. As with so many things that had happened since Saffie had accused Saul of rape, Jules felt out of her depth. How was it even possible that she was sitting there listening to her daughter describing how her teacher had told her he had feelings for her? Her teacher, for God’s sake.
‘Go on,’ said Maria.
‘He bought me perfume.’
Saffie looked up at Maria, saw that she wasn’t judging and continued.
‘I told Freya. She was really jealous. Then he said we could have an extra maths lesson at his house, but I mustn’t tell anyone. I was so excited. That he’d chosen me. And . . . so when he wanted to . . . you know, I thought, well, he’s given me perfume, and the others are jealous. I’m really lucky he likes me, so I can’t really say no.’
‘Oh God.’ Jules tried to stop the pictures that came into her mind unbidden. Pictures of her child, in the clutches of a grown man. She had to fight back the urge to get up, seek out Harry Bell and pummel him until he was crying out in pain – she and Rowan weren’t so different after all. But then she thought of Saul and wondered why she’d not felt that same anger towards him when Saffie had said he’d forced himself on her. Had she, even then, had some doubt? She remembered spotting him on his bike at the park run and the bewilderment she’d felt as she tried to match the boy she’d always known with the one Saffie had described that night. But no, a teacher – the gift; a premeditated act; her daughter’s insecurity about saying no – was so much more shocking even than what Saffie had said about Saul. The truth – that Saffie felt she couldn’t say no to her teacher because she’d liked the attention, the perfume, was afraid of saying no – was much harder to swallow even than the thought of a messed-up adolescent forcing himself on her unwilling daughter to prove his sexual prowess. Was it worse?
‘Go on, Saffie,’ Maria said. ‘You’re doing so well.’
‘He started asking me to go to his house for a “lesson” every week. He bought me nice things . . .’
‘Oh?’
‘Underwear and stuff.’
The slinky lingerie Jules had found in the Peacocks bag. Ridiculously, Jules was incensed that Harry Bell hadn’t even bought nice things for Saffie, that he’d spent a few pounds on some cheap rubbish, and her poor, beautiful daughter had been so grateful, so misguided that she’d felt she had to sleep with him.
She was swamped with guilt, too. What mistakes had she made as a mother that Saffie thought this was OK? That Saffie hadn’t felt able to confide in her? And how had she not noticed what was going on? Her mind ran back over the past weeks. With the clarity of hindsight, she could put together the disparate things she’d noticed: Saffie’s cowed face, her nervous mannerisms, her loss of appetite, her mood swings and her fury each time Jules or Rowan offered to pick her up from her extra lessons in the car. Why hadn’t she added all these symptoms together and realized what Saffie was going through – before the night with Saul even? How could she have been so blind to what her own daughter was enduring? What kind of a mother did that make her?
But Saffie was speaking again.
‘He said we were seeing each other now. He said, don’t tell anyone because people don’t understand love between an older man and a younger woman.’ Saffie’s lip began to tremble and Jules felt bile rise into her throat and was afraid she might actually throw up.
‘But then when my period was late, I got frightened I was pregnant. So I told him. And he changed. He said he was having nothing to do with it. But that if I told anyone else, I’d be in big trouble. He got angry with me. He made me swear not to say it was him who got me pregnant or someone would . . .’
‘Would what, Saffie?’ Maria asked gently.
‘. . . get hurt.’
‘He threatened you!’ Now Jules did stand up, moved over to her daughter, but Maria put a hand out to her, told her to sit down again.
‘You poor thing,’ Maria said, her voice soothing. ‘You must have been very frightened indeed.’
Saffie looked at the policewoman. It was clear she trusted her, and Jules could see why: it was something to do with her calm, unruffled manner combined with the fact that she so obviously cared.
Saffie continued. ‘I didn’t know what to do. I was so scared. I had to tell you, Mum.’
‘Of course you did. I just wish you’d told me who had done this to you.’ And that you’d told me earlier. But Jules could never say that to her daughter, of course; could never make her feel it was her fault for not speaking up.
‘But don’t you see? I couldn’t say it was Harry.’ Saffie began to cry. ‘I knew what we’d done was against the law. And he’d said he’d hurt someone if I told. And you kept asking and asking who it was and I remembered Saul had been round here . . . Well, I thought it would sound true that he’d come into my room. I didn’t really want to get him into trouble . . . but you knew I hadn’t wanted him here. So it would sound weird if I said we were in a relationship. So I said he forced me. I didn’t mean to say it, but you kept asking me and it just came out.’
Jules should have questioned Saffie more, the day she told her. She could see that now. She realized that her inclination to believe Saffie was entangled with so many other things going on between her and Holly at the time. She’d ignored that sense of bewilderment that the boy she knew so well could possibly have raped her daughter and told her to keep quiet. She closed her eyes. If only she’d listened to her instinct. But then, if onlys were pointless. If only she’d been more observant. If only she’d asked Gemma’s mum about the extra maths. If only she hadn’t taken such offence when Holly accused Saffie of troublemaking . . .
‘I wish I’d never said it.’ Saffie gulped. ‘I never meant it to get him into this much trouble. But once I’d said it, I couldn’t unsay it.’
Jules opened her mouth to speak, but Maria silenced her again, with a small shake of the head. Jules wondered if Maria was judging her – thinking what a bad mother she was, not to have spotted what was going on – but the expression on Maria’s face was kind. Sympathetic.
Saffie stroked the teddy bear on her lap. ‘And then I thought, well, you and Holly are friends. You’ll just talk about it a
nd tell Saul off, and even if he denies it, you’ll believe me, not him. Because Holly’s always been telling us girls must be believed. And then it would be done with. I thought at least no one would get hurt. By Harry. And if we didn’t tell anyone else, we could all just go back to normal.’
‘How could things have gone back to normal?’ Jules burst out. ‘With that man still at school?’
‘Is there any more, Saffie?’ Maria asked, gently, almost as if Jules hadn’t spoken, and Jules swallowed back tears.
‘Just . . . yesterday, not long before I was supposed to go to Donna Browne, I started my period. So after school I went to tell Harry. That’s why I was late home yesterday, Mum. I told him I wasn’t pregnant and so I was taking back the lie about Saul. I was so worried about what had happened to him, and I wanted to make things better. But Harry said, “Don’t you dare take it back, or people will start to ask questions about why you said it in the first place. And if they find out what we’ve been doing, we’ll end up in prison.” And I didn’t want to go to the doctor, in case she asked questions too and found out, and then Harry would know that I’d told and . . .’
Jules thought of Saffie coming in and stomping upstairs saying she didn’t need to see the doctor. Her poor, terrified daughter. And even then Jules had just put it down to Saffie’s reluctance to face up to what was happening to her. Again, Jules wished she could go back and do things differently.
‘You were very confused and frightened,’ Maria prompted.
‘And then,’ Saffie sobbed, ‘it was too late anyway, because I met Holly on the river and she told me they’d found a body. And it was probably Saul. And it was all my fault for lying . . .’
‘No. What this is, Saffie, is a serious case of sexual exploitation,’ Maria said. ‘You’ve been so very brave telling us about it.’
Sexual exploitation, thought Jules. The words were like something from a crime programme. And Jules hadn’t noticed. Hadn’t asked the right questions. All this time!
No wonder Saffie had been so volatile. She was terrified of what she’d got herself into, too, terrified of being found out. And there was she, Jules, so incensed that Holly had called Saffie ‘a devious little troublemaker’ that she had been more concerned with proving Saul guilty than finding out what was really going on. Had she missed other signs? Had she ignored other glaringly obvious hints that Harry was exploiting her daughter? He had been at the Auction of Promises, she remembered. He’d eaten Saffie’s cupcakes in front of her, Jules. The phrase hiding in plain sight came to her. Or was it that she had been completely, stupidly blindsided by her argument with Holly?
‘Saffie,’ Maria said, leaning towards the girl and picking up her hand. ‘I want to tell you how helpful you have been. And how we are going to get you lots of help now so you can talk about everything you’ve been through. It won’t make it go away, but it will make it feel better, I promise. In time. And now I’m going to leave you with your mum, who I expect wants to give you a big cuddle, but first I want to thank you. For being so brave.’
Maria smiled at Jules. ‘I can see myself out,’ she said. ‘I think your daughter probably needs you.’
Jules smiled weakly in return. As soon as Maria had gone, she put her arms round Saffie. As she held her tight, she realized that Saffie had been changed irrevocably by everything Harry had put her through. Her body had been violated. Her innocence snatched from her. Her trust in the people who were supposed to look after her smashed to pieces. And Jules couldn’t help feeling as if she was, in a large part, to blame.
She thought of Holly, and wondered whether, if Holly had a daughter, she would have been so blind, and so proud, and so unable to pick up on the warning signs. And decided no, she wouldn’t. And she wished she was more like Holly, more attentive, more conscientious. More clear-sighted. She wished she was as good a mother as Holly.
As Holly had been.
*
On Monday morning, Jules got up early to go round to Holly’s house. She had to catch her, and then she had to get in to work. Because things at the shop were slipping. Hetty was about to leave. Jules needed to get the business back on track, get stocked up for Christmas.
She left Saffie at home. She had slept in her bed the other night, after Maria Shimwell had gone. She and Saffie hadn’t spoken, not really, but being close to her daughter had felt important. The funny thing was, they’d both slept too, even though Saffie’s bed was tiny and Jules had been convinced she wouldn’t sleep a wink. And yesterday, Saffie had seemed quiet and withdrawn, but less anxious, somehow, as though she’d realized that the worst was over. The doctor had given her a sick note and said she would need time to process everything. They were providing a counsellor. The school had been informed that Harry Bell had been questioned, arrested and remanded in custody. They at least had that to be thankful for. He’d been charged with rape, and with sexual exploitation. There would be a court case, but that wouldn’t be for a while, thank goodness.
Jules wanted to summon the strength to apologize to Holly, although how she would be able to convey her remorse, she had no idea.
She got into the Fiat and drove up to the green. She parked outside Holly’s and knocked on the door before she had time to give it too much thought. She waited, her breath catching, afraid she wouldn’t be able to speak when Holly came to the door. Because how would she begin?
I’m sorry Saffie lied and Saul is probably dead.
I want to apologize for not seeing that my child was being sexually exploited.
I’m sorry I didn’t believe that Saul was innocent.
It would sound too trite, however she tried to put it. The reality, the enormity of what it meant for Holly, would be impossible to address.
When the door did open at last, Pete stood there in his pyjamas. He looked terrible. His hair had greyed, even since last time she’d seen him. He was puffy-eyed without his glasses, and he still had that paunch, more apparent in his jersey pyjama top. Behind him, the house looked unkempt, shoes piled on the floor, coats heaped on pegs on the back of the kitchen door. There was the familiar smell of Holly, patchouli oil, a smell that had accompanied her through life since university and that had a powerful effect on Jules, whisking her back to happier times with her friend. Beyond the cluttered hallway, the kitchen door was ajar, and she could just spot Holly’s old cafetière on the counter, and the cork noticeboard she’d always had, plastered with photos of Saul at different stages of his childhood. In some of them, Saffie was there too; the two kids had been such good friends, once. All of this made Jules yearn to rewind time, to do things differently. To be able to come round and sit at the scratched pine table in the kitchen drinking wine and talking the hours away. Then she spotted Saul’s trainers, lying on the floor just behind the door, and the reality of the situation hit her like a punch in the chest. That Saul’s shoes could exist while Saul no longer did.
Pete was reluctant to talk.
‘Holly’s not in,’ he said.
‘Poor woman. I don’t know how she can continue, knowing the police have a body. Not knowing whether or not it’s . . . How is she, Pete? Is there any news?’
‘You didn’t hear?’ He paused, and Jules waited.
‘They identified it. The body, I mean,’ he said. ‘It took some time.’
‘Oh God . . .’ Jules put a hand on the door frame to steady herself.
‘It isn’t Saul.’
‘It isn’t Saul?’ she repeated stupidly.
Pete lifted his hands in a ‘that’s what I said’ gesture.
‘But that’s good news . . .’ Jules said. ‘Isn’t it? That’s such a relief for you both.’
‘Saul’s still missing,’ Pete said. ‘We still don’t know what’s happened to him. We still don’t know whether he’s alive or dead.’
Jules hung her head. Pete was angry, and rightly so.
They stood in the doorway, silent. Pete didn’t ask Jules in, and Jules wasn’t surprised.
She pulled her
coat closer around herself, because she realized she felt chilled, chilled to the bone. It was taking her some time to process what Pete had told her, and the implications. Because if the body wasn’t Saul’s, then Rowan having gone that morning to the area of the Fens where it was found was no longer significant. Was it? She stood, unable to work out whether to leave or stay.
‘I came to talk to Holly. To try to apologize for the terrible misunderstanding . . .’
When Pete spoke again, his voice was a little softer.
‘Holly’s gone to work to collect some books. Can’t stand waiting any longer without knowing if or when the wait will end.’
‘Pete, look, I know this is a terrible mess, but now things are becoming clear – I mean with Saffie – I want to try and make amends. I was hoping there was something to salvage from our friendship.’
‘You might catch her. She was walking to the station to get the eight thirty-five to King’s Cross.’
Jules stood for a few seconds longer, before realizing Pete was actually asking her to leave.
*
A few minutes later, Jules had parked. She stood on the freezing station platform. She couldn’t see Holly. Perhaps she’d missed her. Winter had moved in over the Fens. On the village side of the station, ponies grazed in a field, and the reeds blew pale and feather-like in the ditch, lending a soft focus to the church spire a little way away. The sound of the church bell floated over the fields, its ‘dong’ faint, then growing louder when the wind rose. Jules turned the other way to look at the wide, constantly changing sky. She thought of this landscape as darkly beautiful. And it had, until recently, served her well. Enabled her to live the lifestyle she and Rowan had always dreamed of. They had been able to buy a piece of this mostly undeveloped reclaimed land at a reasonable price, renovate a bigger house than they would have been able to afford anywhere else in the South-East.
Was she about to lose it all? When she finally found out what her husband had done? She might have had a momentary doubt that she wanted the house with its fancy features, but losing it now was unthinkable. It was her home. Their home. The hard knot of anxiety in her belly was a permanent feeling now. She thought again about the fact the body that had been found wasn’t Saul’s. Should she allow this to reassure her about Rowan’s part in the whole nightmare? It didn’t make anything definite. There was still the guilty way Rowan was behaving, and his admission that he was justified in avenging his daughter.
I Thought I Knew You Page 31
