The Girl In His Eyes: a dark psychological drama

by Jennie Ensor

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

  They walked back to the car. The sun was golden above the horizon and a row of trees cast long shadows over them.

  She came to him as he fell asleep that night, in that enchanting place between alertness and oblivion. Laura, in her swimming costume, spread out on the grass, drops of water sparkling on her bare shoulders. No matter how many times he replayed it, the image was as clear as it had always been.

  She had been standing under the garden hose, trying to cool herself down. Now, propped up on an elbow, she was engrossed in a book. Riddles in Philosophy it said on the cover, the sort of book she’d taken to reading of late.

  He sat down beside the discarded sun hat. Though not yet a woman, his daughter was beautiful. In only a few months, the bones in her face had become visible. He watched the side of her face, its sharpness of concentration, the little furrow in her brow. She was ignoring him. She wanted him to leave her alone so she could get on with her book.

  The tan of her thighs glistened against the white of her costume. The cheeks of her bottom stretched the skimpy material. He could see the curves of her breasts too. Last year they had only been tiny buds.

  He glanced up at the houses on either side. The back windows of one were curtained, and those of the others were obscured by a nearby tree – now strung with small apples – and a mass of roses poking up from the fence. No one could see them here, at the far end of the garden.

  He knew that what he was about to do was wrong. Only that wasn’t enough, not anymore. He closed his eyes, the electric fizz of anticipation building inside him.

  4

  Laura

  25 January 2011

  ‘Alison wants to see you in her office,’ Jan said cheerily as she strutted past, a stack of DVDs in her arms. ‘I’d go straight away, if I were you.’

  Laura looked up from her computer. She was in trouble, she guessed. Alison was finding fault with everyone today. One of the editors had been rebuked for allowing his honeymoon to coincide with the week of the annual company get-together. Then Alison’s PA had been reprimanded for making a spelling mistake in a presentation to potential clients – pubic instead of public – loud enough to send the whole office into a fit of sniggers and giggles.

  Yes, she must have done something wrong, despite her renewed efforts to do everything as if her life depended on it, to make up for her recent lack of concentration. Nightmares had disrupted her sleep more than ever lately. By about mid-afternoon, she’d have to go outside for a quick walk around the block to stop herself from dropping off at her desk. Today had been worse than usual. All morning she’d found it hard to focus on the simplest task.

  Her boss’s door was open. Laura knocked and went in.

  ‘That was Charlie on the phone,’ Alison announced in her thick New Zealand accent, not issuing an invitation to sit. She was standing behind her desk, bouncing a paperweight between her hands, her eyes hard and bright. Her bulk seemed more mountainous than usual. ‘He said he left a message with you this morning.’

  Laura waited for Alison to continue. Her gaze wandered from the paperweight, to Alison’s clunky watch, to the large ruby on her finger. The message stayed obstinately out of reach.

  Alison’s frown embedded itself deeper. ‘I’ll give you a clue. It involves Mr Beale.’

  Then she remembered, with sickening clarity. ‘It was for Charlie to call Tim at Flamingo.’

  ‘That’s the one.’

  Someone had distracted her with Jeff’s leaving collection as she was about to write it down, and then she’d had a call to go and help in the edit suite.

  ‘I forgot about it. I’m sorry.’

  The volume of Alison’s voice shot up by several decibels. ‘You forgot about it? You forgot about it?’

  Laura opened her mouth to speak, but Alison got there first.

  ‘Charlie is off his fucking tree. Flamingo have decided to go with the fuckwits down the road instead of us – thanks to you.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Alison. It won’t happen again, I promise.’

  A cursory flick of the hand. ‘I have to go back to work. I’ll see you later on.’

  At 5pm Laura started on her last task – booking next week’s facilities. The summons still hadn’t come. Anxiety lodged inside her gut, the vague unease slowly building into a churning, icky sensation, until she couldn’t think of anything except what would happen next. Alison was well known for her temper – even some of the men were reluctant to say anything that might set her off.

  At 5.30pm, people started to leave the office. While most ignored her, some gave her curious or pitying stares. Laura sorted the papers on her desk into neat piles and sharpened her pencil. She was sorely tempted to slip away with the others. God only knew what Alison would say to her. Perhaps she’d have calmed down. Or was she waiting for everyone to leave so she could let rip?

  At 6pm, Jan beckoned to Laura.

  ‘Alison will see you now.’

  Alison was sitting down at her desk, examining a sheet of paper. She lowered it and motioned for Laura to sit.

  ‘Laura, I’m not going to beat around the bush. You’ve been here for nearly three months now. How do you think you’re doing?’

  Alison’s tone was scathing. This interview wasn’t going to go well. Laura wet the inside of her mouth with her tongue and fought the urge to swallow. She tried to speak confidently without any trace of a wobble.

  ‘I could be doing better, I suppose.’

  ‘Yes, I’d agree with that. Let me give you a few reasons why.’ Alison leaned forward, emphasising her heavy jowls and extensive cleavage. ‘One, you obviously dislike what you’re doing, or think it’s beneath you – since you arrived here you’ve shown no interest in your work, and rush home as soon as you possibly can. Two, you keep making mistakes when you should know better. Three,’ Alison thumped the desk with the heel of her hand as her voice increased in pitch and volume, ‘you go around in a daze not knowing what the hell you’re doing. Someone asks you to do something and you forget to do it, and we lose an important contract.’ A speck of saliva landed just below Laura’s eye. ‘Is there anything I’ve missed?’

  Laura shrank into her chair, staring at her hands huddled in her lap. What could she say? That she’d been doing her best, only it was difficult to concentrate on anything after so many nights of broken sleep? That a dull ache clouded her head most of the time, like someone pushing their knuckles behind her eyeballs? That she wanted just one last chance to prove herself? That she needed this job?

  There was no point.

  ‘You can go now, Laura, and don’t bother coming back. You’ll be paid for the rest of the month. I suggest you find yourself a job you’re better suited to.’

  Rachel gave Laura an interrogatory glance. ‘So, you’ve been looking for something else?’

  Rachel’s pale, red-tinged hair was piled behind her head as usual. Today she was wearing her new camel coat, its collar turned up in the late January chill.

  ‘Of course. I spend all day looking.’ Laura sighed. The frustration of it all made her want to tear up her CV on top of the head of the next person to ask her where she wanted to be in five years’ time. ‘There’s not a lot out there, though, unless you’re an IT genius or you want to spend the day asking passers-by to make donations to Greenpeace. Everyone’s looking for the same jobs as me, I think.’

  ‘Better sign on for the dole, in case you don’t find anything soon. Damn, we’d better go back.’

  Water stretched across the towpath in front of them, barring the way. Laura reluctantly turned and followed Rachel’s slight figure. The stillness of the scene soothed her. It seemed to deepen after being broken once in a while by the hoot of geese, or the hypnotic lap of water against muddy stones. Beside them the river, fat and brown, crept up into the meadows like a giant slug.

  ‘Oh, I forgot to tell you, you’ll never guess what happened at rehearsals the other day.’ Excitement bubb
led up through Rachel’s voice, sending its pitch even higher. ‘Roger tripped over my cello case and nearly went flying. I couldn’t help laughing. He gave me this really dirty look and I grovelled. Anyway, we got talking …’

  Laura smiled. Such meetings were typical of Rachel, who was never shy of capitalising on social opportunities. Though she tried to follow the story, her friend’s voice began to blend with the squawks of ducks chasing bread, and the chug of a receding boat. She watched a heron trawl the mud. Above, the clouds began to darken.

  ‘Sorry, Laura. I’m going on and on and you can’t get a word in.’

  Sometimes, Rachel’s vivacious chatter could be irritating. Today, she didn’t mind, for it stopped her from having to think about what she was going to say – if she had the guts to go through with it.

  They reached Richmond Bridge. Rachel suggested they sit on a bench with a view of the river.

  ‘So, what was that thing you wanted to talk about?’

  Laura thrust her hands deep into her jacket pockets. ‘I’m not sure if this is the right time.’

  Her decision to reveal her secret – her father’s secret – had been definite. Only, as the moment approached, her certainty was receding. To tell Rachel would be to betray her father, she couldn’t help thinking.

  ‘Come on, Laura,’ Rachel pressed. ‘When is it going to be the right time?’

  It was as good a time as any, wasn’t it, to finally let go of this thing? She’d been holding on to it for long enough; it was starting to fester inside her. If she didn’t tell someone, the truth would burst out. And why should she have to hide it anymore? She was a big girl now. Nothing would happen to her.

  ‘You know these bad dreams I was telling you about?’

  ‘Where someone’s chasing you? You’re still having them?’

  ‘They’re worse, lately. Sometimes I can’t sleep for hours afterwards. The man chasing me – he’s dangerous, he’s going to hurt me, or kill me. But I’m trapped, I can’t get away.’

  Rachel frowned. ‘Do you know who it is?’

  ‘Not really. I never see his face.’

  ‘What, it’s just some random guy?’

  ‘I think it’s my father.’

  ‘Your father? Why would he be chasing you?’ Her friend sounded interested, as she’d expected. Rachel was always interested in anything psychological – the darker, the better.

  ‘It’s a bit … heavy. I’ve never told this to anyone.’

  Laura looked at Rachel’s pretty, almost angelic face. Though Rachel was her closest friend, sometimes she had the disconcerting feeling that Rachel looked on her as an object of curiosity, much as a biologist might examine the contents of a petri dish.

  Rachel smiled enticingly. ‘Tell me.’

  She checked no one was within earshot. This was like the moment before diving into a pool of icy water on a sweltering day. Wanting to, and not wanting to, in equal measures.

  ‘When I was growing up he … he used to do things. When no one was around.’

  The afternoon light was dying. Clouds towered into the sky, giving the river a steely hue.

  ‘Go on, I’m listening. What did he do?’

  ‘He used to touch me. He said I—’ She stopped. Rachel’s smile had gone. Why go on? She could stop this now, if she wanted. But something was starting up inside her, unstoppable, like a huge wave curving the sea, way out from the shore.

  ‘He used to put his hand on my thigh, and I’d push it away. It was like a game we played.’ The games had started years earlier. Games of hide and seek that would end in giggling and shrieking when her father grabbed her and swung her high in the air. Games of how long she could keep quiet while he tickled her feet with blades of grass. Games that they only played when they were alone together. ‘Then it went on to other things.’

  Rachel’s eyes widened. ‘What things?’

  Laura took a deep breath. The wave was closing on the shore now, carrying her with it.

  ‘The first time he actually did anything … I was sunbathing in the garden and my mother was upstairs. He pulled down my costume and started touching my breasts.’

  ‘My God, Laura.’

  ‘I was eleven. My mother had bought me my first bra a few months before. I wanted to push him away, but I didn’t. I couldn’t.’

  It sounds pathetic, she thought, startled by the look of disgust on Rachel’s face. As if I had no free will whatsoever. But she had been unable to stop him. He had taken temporary ownership of her body, rendering her approval obsolete.

  ‘He did it quite often, after that. He kissed me too, sometimes. I hated it.’

  For so long, she had tried to forget what her father had done – now, most of the separate incidents had blurred together in her mind. Could she actually have enjoyed any of it? That was the worst thing, imagining that.

  Rachel scratched her head, frowning. ‘Did no one see him while he was doing this?’

  ‘No, I was always alone with him.’ She was riding the wave now. ‘My mother would be out, shopping or whatever, and my brother would be out with his friends. Usually he did it when I was downstairs watching TV or doing my homework.’

  ‘No one ever saw him?’

  ‘No, never.’

  ‘What if someone had? Didn’t he worry he’d be caught?’

  ‘I’ve no idea.’

  Rachel bit her lip. ‘Did he ever … do anything else?’

  ‘Sex, you mean? No, nothing like that, thank God. Except one time.’

  ‘What?’ Rachel leaned forward.

  ‘Mum was away for a few days, staying with a friend. I think my brother was on a camping trip. I found some pictures on my bed, of a man having sex with a girl. She was about ten or eleven. They were disgusting. I screwed them up and chucked them in the dustbin. I thought it must have been my father who put them in my room, but I didn’t say anything. Then, the next night, he came into my room when I was asleep. He lay down beside me and opened his dressing gown. I honestly thought he was going to make me have sex with him. But he didn’t, he just made me do things.’

  ‘What things, Laura?’

  Though it was too awful to say, she would have to say it now.

  ‘Hold his … you know. Then he asked me to put it in my mouth. He said he needed me to know how much he wanted me.’

  It was the worst thing she’d ever done. A flash of memory snuck out before she could push it back. That musty, festering smell. Wiping her face on the towel he’d handed her. Her gut clenched. Something fluttered inside her like a small, dying animal.

  ‘Then he went away again. He went downstairs and played his music.’ He’d played Beethoven’s fifth symphony, the volume high.

  ‘My God, Laura.’ Rachel stared, her face drained of colour.

  ‘He never did anything like that again. I always thought he might, though. After that night, I kept thinking he would make me do it again, or he’d make me have sex with him this time. He never did, thank God.’

  ‘How long did all this go on for?’

  ‘A year or so. I’m not sure why he stopped. Maybe he thought I’d had enough by then. Or maybe he was scared someone would find out.’

  ‘You didn’t tell anyone? Not even your mother?’

  ‘No, I didn’t tell anyone. He made me promise.’

  Looking back now, it seemed so obvious. Why hadn’t she just told her mother what he’d done that first time? She must have asked herself a hundred times, now it was too late to change a thing.

  ‘I know it sounds crazy, I didn’t tell my mother. Or my brother, a teacher, someone.’ She heard her voice weak and scratchy in her throat. ‘But he said it would kill my mother if she ever found out. He meant it would actually kill her, not just “Oh, it’ll kill her”. I couldn’t tell anyone.’

  Her heart drummed in her chest. Finally, it was out.

  Rachel tucked an escaped strand of hair behind her ear. She seemed deep in thought.

  ‘What do you think would have happened if you
had told her?’

  ‘Maybe she would have asked for a divorce, and we’d have all carried on happily without Dad, and he wouldn’t have come near me again. I don’t know.’ She heard her shrug reflected in her voice. ‘But maybe not. He was the boss in our family, we all had to do what he said. Mum didn’t stand up to him, Rachel. She tried to, but he always had to be in control, everything had to be done his way. If I’d told her, she probably wouldn’t have been able to do anything at all, she’d have just crumbled, fallen apart. And I’d have been left alone with him, apart from my brother.’

  ‘Your mother might have left him.’

  ‘No, she wouldn’t have. She was tied to him, she still is. She says she loves him even though he makes her so unhappy sometimes.’

  Neither of them spoke. Invisible specks of rain hung in the air. The wind broke up the reflection of the street lamps on the bridge.

  It was done, for better or for worse. The awkwardness, anxiety and exhilaration were gone. The anger she knew she ought to feel was still lost somewhere inside her. All she felt was relief, and the ache that never went away – a longing for things to have been different.

  ‘I’ll never understand why he did it, Rachel. A father is supposed to love and protect you. What’s the point of having children otherwise?’

  Rachel’s arms surrounded her. ‘You poor thing. I can’t imagine what it must have been like. Your father was the pits. I’m surprised you can bear to see him now.’

  ‘I got used to pretending, I suppose. I wish he wasn’t my father. I wish I had a normal father, one like everyone else.’

  ‘It’s hard, isn’t it? My mother used to do crazy things to me and my brother, and I couldn’t tell anyone.’

  Laura looked at her friend in surprise. She knew Rachel hadn’t had a happy childhood, though she hadn’t talked about it much – at least, only those bits she could manage to laugh at.

  Three women in office clothes and heels ran past, yelling. The first raindrops were falling, splattering loudly on the ground.