by Fay Sampson
Millie hurled herself at the bed, a spectral figure in a long white T-shirt. Her face was haggard. ‘Mum, Dad! I’ve just thought of something terrible. I’ve been lying awake, worrying about Tamara, and I suddenly thought: what if she’s dead?’
Nick swung his legs out of bed and put an arm around her. ‘Millie. Don’t give yourself nightmares. Tamara’s got herself into trouble. It’s been a shock for her. But she’ll get over it. It’s not like a Dickens novel, where young women throw themselves into the Thames. This is the twenty-first century. It happens all the time.’
‘I don’t mean she’d do it. Commit suicide. She wouldn’t. But what if someone wanted to shut her up? What if whoever it was doesn’t want her to tell whose baby it is?’
Suzie hoisted herself up and draped a fold of duvet around Millie’s cold legs. ‘You’ve been giving yourself nightmares. It can’t be as bad as all that. It’s easy to start imagining terrible things in the middle of the night. Then it all seems silly next morning. You’ll see.’
‘But why won’t she answer her phone? It’s been days. She’d have rung me if she’d gone away. I know she would. And her mum couldn’t wait to get me out of the house. She was scared of Mr Dawson. I’m sure she was. What if he’s done it? And Mrs Gamble – I mean Mrs Dawson – knows about it and is terrified of him?’
‘Millie, Millie!’ Nick laughed. ‘This is real life, not a TV thriller. Mr Dawson may have his reasons for wanting to hush up her under-age pregnancy. But I hardly think he’d resort to murder.’
‘Not even if he was the father of her baby?’
A stillness fell over the bedroom.
At last Suzie found her voice. ‘Do you have any reason to think that?’
Millie bent her head and began to twist the edge of the duvet. ‘She wouldn’t tell me who the father was. And I’m her best friend. If it had been one of the boys at school, I’d have known about it. I’m sure I would. And she was really scared of her stepfather.’ She raised an accusing face to them. ‘Don’t tell me it doesn’t happen. Men having it off with their daughters. You see it on the news. He doesn’t have to shut her up in a cellar for it to happen.’
‘Like those servant girls in the big house,’ Suzie murmured. ‘They can’t say no to him.’
‘And he wouldn’t just be ashamed if that got out,’ Nick mused. ‘A headmaster? It would finish him. He’d not only go to prison; he’d never work with children again.’ Then he shook himself and stood up. ‘Look, Mum’s right. It’s the middle of the night. Everything seems much worse then. We’re letting our imaginations run away with us. You go and snuggle under the bedclothes, and I’m going to make you a hot chocolate. Deal?’
‘Deal,’ said Millie, reluctantly. ‘But you’re not denying it could have happened?’
‘There’s a one in a million chance, yes. But there’ll be a simpler explanation. You’ll see.’
When they were gone, Suzie lay in bed, wondering. Nick was right. It was a preposterous suggestion. But what if they’d been too concerned with the guilty young woman in church, naked except for a white sheet, before the accusing eyes of the congregation? She had to confess the name of the father.
They hadn’t thought enough about the man involved.
NINE
Suzie came to with the realization that it was Sunday. She stretched luxuriously and settled herself more comfortably on the pillows. No rush to get to the office, after seeing Millie off to school. No need to head for the supermarket for her Saturday shopping. It was a day to do what she liked.
She was just snuggling down again when a memory struck her. Prudence Clayson saying: ‘I was planning on asking what church you folks go to.’ That confident assumption which contained no ‘if’.
Suzie would have answered, with only a twinge of guilt: Springbrook Methodist. It was partly true. Christmas, Easter, occasional Sundays in-between. But it was not a regular habit. She would, of course, have offered to take Prudence there this morning. But Prudence was off to the Midlands instead.
She was halfway out of bed before she realized she had made a decision.
Nick propped himself up on an elbow. ‘You’re up bright and early.’
‘Prudence said something about going to church with us this morning. I know she’s gone off to make contact with her living Claysons instead, but I thought I might go.’
She walked over to the window and pulled the curtains back. A fine drizzle was beading the summer foliage with moisture. She stood looking out for a while. Then she said, without turning, ‘I know Millie gets melodramatic, but this stuff about Tamara. It is worrying.’
‘And you think praying might help?’
‘I don’t know if it does, but I feel I need to.’
Nick sat up in bed, only half reluctantly. ‘I’ll come with you, if you like.’
‘You don’t have to.’
‘It looks like it’s raining, anyway. I wouldn’t get much done in the garden.’
There was a shyness between them. Neither of them was openly religious. They had taken the children to Sunday School when they were younger, but other things had intervened as Millie and Tom approached their teens. Football leagues, gardening, Suzie writing up the results of family history expeditions the day before, Millie’s teenage lethargy. Yet still there was the pull that drew them back from time to time.
Now it seemed more important than usual.
They left Millie in bed.
The doors swung open on a foyer filled with chatter. Coffee cups were being lined up on the counter. Small children dodged around the adults’ legs. A mixture of nationalities was streaming towards the worship centre, exchanging greetings as they went.
‘Nick, Suzie, good to see you. How are you?’
Alan Taylor, Springbrook’s minister, looked younger than his fifty years. His brown eyes glowed with enthusiasm and his broad grin was genuine.
Suzie felt herself enfolded in friendship. The great thing about Springbrook was that nobody censured you for the times you didn’t appear. They just seemed really glad when you did. Alan hadn’t been there long, but he had lifted the spirits of the place.
‘We’re fine, thank you.’
It was silly, really, this English habit of insisting that everything was well. But she could hardly have blurted out at the church door: ‘I’m worried stiff that Tamara Gamble may be in danger.’
And yet, as Alan Taylor released her hand and turned to greet the next arrivals, something in her wished that she had.
She and Nick found themselves seats towards the back. Suzie let the organ voluntary soothe her worried thoughts. She had been right to come. It would help to get things into perspective. She’d been almost as foolish as Millie, letting lurid imagination run away with her. As Nick kept saying, there would be a simple explanation for Tamara’s disappearance and subsequent silence.
She leafed through the service sheet and the week’s notices. As she lifted her head she saw a couple moving along the side aisle to seats nearer the front. She stiffened with surprise. Of course, she should have known they would be here.
The woman was small and slender, with short dark hair elegantly arranged across her forehead. The man was large, with a fleshy pink face. Little curls of pale hair covered the back and sides of his head, leaving a bald crown.
She nudged Nick urgently. ‘There’s Lisa Gamble. Sorry, Dawson. Tamara’s mother. And that’s Leonard Dawson with her.’
‘The dreaded stepfather. I’ve seen him here before. He looks a decent enough guy. A bit pompous, but amiable.’
‘That’s not his reputation with his pupils. Tom knows a boy who goes to his school. He says he scares the daylight out of them.’
‘Well, at least they don’t look as though they’re sick with worry because Tamara’s missing. Whether she’s at home or not, I’d put money on their knowing where she is. I knew Millie had got it all wrong.’
‘We can’t see their faces from behind.’
‘Well, here’s your opportuni
ty. You can go and talk to them after the service.’
There was no time for more. The minister announced the first hymn. The congregation rose.
‘O Lord our help in ages past.’
The old familiar words comforted Suzie. Nick was right. Everything was fine. Well, not everything. Fourteen-year-old Tamara was still pregnant. Unless her stepfather had forced her to do what she didn’t want to and get rid of it. How? The black thoughts were crowding back.
She joined in the prayers with more heartfelt intensity than ever before.
The service was over. People were heading for the coffee bar or stopping to talk with friends and welcome newcomers. Suzie saw the Dawsons making straight for the exit. She wriggled past the people between her and the aisle and hurried after them.
‘Lisa!’
It was Mr Dawson who turned first. That broad pink face should have looked genial, but, close to, there was something about the smallness of his eyes and the hardness of their look that sent a different message.
Then Tamara’s mother turned too. Suzie stopped in shock. It had been a month or two since she had seen the new Mrs Dawson. In that time the other woman seemed to have aged years. Her cheeks were sunken. There were black rings under her eyes. The eyes themselves had a look which Suzie could only describe as haunted.
Suzie struggled to find the words of casual greeting she had been going to say. Instead, she blurted out, without preliminaries, ‘I’m sorry to hear Tamara’s not well. Millie’s been missing her.’
Lisa Dawson’s eyes flew to her husband, as if seeking permission to speak. Her voice took on a forced cheerfulness. ‘Tamara’s fine. Nothing to worry about.’
The imposing figure of Mr Dawson stepped forward, almost shouldering his wife out of the way. A smile Suzie would have described as ‘professional’ creased his fleshy jowls. His voice was higher than she expected.
‘I’m afraid she’s been overworking. Girls that age live on their nerves, don’t they? We decided she needed a break. Peace and quiet. I’d be grateful if your daughter would leave her alone for a bit. School’s not what she needs to be reminded of, just now.’
Nick’s voice came from behind Suzie, firm, with a hard edge. ‘I should have thought we all need friends, especially when life’s not going too well. I’m surprised she didn’t tell Millie she was going away.’
The smile vanished. ‘Are you trying to teach me my job, Mr . . .?’
‘Fewings.’
‘And are you a child psychologist? No? I thought not. In case you are unaware of the fact, let me inform you that I have the care of nearly a thousand children. I think my judgement about Tamara’s state of mind might be worth something. Now, if you’ll excuse us . . .’ He took his wife’s elbow, forcing her round.
‘Give Tamara my love, and Millie’s,’ Suzie said hastily as they turned away. ‘I’m fond of her. Tell her I hope it’s . . . I hope everything works out well for her.’
Is it true? And do they know? she thought frantically. Do they know Tamara’s pregnant? Has she told them? Or did she just . . . disappear?
Mr Dawson’s small eyes stared back at her coldly. ‘What could you possibly mean by that, Mrs Fewings?’ Before she could answer, he steered his small wife towards the door.
‘Well,’ said Nick when they had gone. ‘Did you see that bruise on her temple under the hair? I may not be a child psychologist, but I can recognize a battered wife when I see one. I’ll bet good money she didn’t walk into a door.’
Suzie stared back at him, her thoughts churning. Nick had seen more than she had, but Lisa’s expression had been enough.
TEN
The drizzle had stopped. Sunshine lit the flower beds with vibrant summer colour. Nick dried the patio chairs, while Millie laid the table outside for lunch.
They were halfway through their lasagne and salad when the conservatory doors burst open. A tall eighteen-year-old erupted on to the patio, glowing with health and laughter and a Mediterranean tan. The waving black hair and deep-blue eyes were the mirror image of Nick’s.
‘Tom!’ Suzie flew from her chair to hug him, ridiculously glad of her son’s strong embrace, of his almost mature height. He had only been gone ten days, but she realized suddenly how still and colourless the house had been without him. ‘What happened? We weren’t expecting you back till Tuesday. But it’s lovely to see you.’
‘Thunderstorms in the South of France, would you believe? For weeks, we’ve been sweating in that exam hall in a heat-wave, and then we get flooded out of our campsite in the Camargue. There’s no justice. Our gear was so sodden, we reckoned we might as well pack up and head back for the Channel ferry. Hi, Dad. Cheers, Millie. How’s things?’
Their laughter faded. It had been a casual question, not expecting a serious answer.
‘Tamara’s missing.’ Millie delivered the news with genuine solemnity, but relishing, Suzie sensed, being able to position herself at the centre of the drama, upstaging her elder brother.
‘Seriously? Since when?’
‘She wasn’t at school on Thursday, and nobody’s heard from her since.’
‘Have they got the police on to it?’
The others exchanged glances. Suzie said carefully, ‘It’s a bit odd. We’re not quite sure about the position. Her parents – well, her mother and stepfather – are acting as though everything’s under control. They haven’t admitted she’s missing. They say she just needs a rest. But they won’t let Millie see her, and Tamara isn’t answering her phone.’
‘She’s pregnant,’ Millie burst out. ‘We’re afraid they’ve sent her away for an abortion. But she doesn’t want one. What if she’s run away to avoid it and they’re afraid to tell anyone?’ She clapped her hand over her mouth. ‘You’re not to say anything about that. It’s a secret. Nobody knows but me. At least, not till I told Mum and Dad.’
‘Trust me. My lips are sealed.’
‘To be honest,’ Suzie said, ‘we don’t even know if she’s told her family she’s pregnant. She could have run away because she’s too scared to face them.’
‘Because she’s scared of Mr Dawson. Or what if he’s the father, and she’s terrified of what he’ll do?’ Millie’s face was avid with the darkest possibilities.
‘As you can see,’ Nick said over Millie’s head, ‘there’s been no shortage of wild theories. All the same . . . We met Mr Dawson this morning, and I can see why Tamara might be afraid of him. He certainly terrorizes his wife.’
‘That wouldn’t be the Mr Dawson, would it? The Head of Briars Hill?’
‘That’s the one.’
Tom whistled. ‘Poor kid. I certainly wouldn’t want to come home to him every evening, from what I’ve heard. But you don’t seriously think he’d, well, put her in the club?’
‘It happens,’ argued Millie. ‘Just because he looks respectable. Headmaster, going to church, and all that. You can find paedophiles anywhere. If it had been one of the boys at school, I’d have known they were going together.’
‘Mm. You sure? Why don’t I ask around? See if any of the gang have heard anything?’
‘You mustn’t tell them!’ Millie cried. ‘It’s a secret. Tamara wants to keep the baby, but nobody else knows yet.’
Tom grinned, his blue eyes crinkling in the way that made Suzie’s heart turn over. ‘I’ll employ my famous diplomatic skills. Promise. I could make out that I quite fancy her myself. See if there’s word of any competition.’
‘Would you?’ Suzie felt a rush of relief. ‘We’ve all been worrying ourselves silly, thinking up dark scenarios. It’s bad enough anyway, because she’s under age. But it would be a relief to know it was just a boyfriend, after all. We’ve been letting ourselves think of things much worse than that.’
‘Well, yes. I get your point. Incest’s not very pretty, when it’s a middle-aged man with a reputation for bullying and a fourteen-year-old kid.’
‘We’re not kids!’ Millie protested.
‘Strictly speaking,’ Nick sa
id, ‘it wouldn’t be incest. They’re not blood relations. But it would certainly be an abuse of a position of trust and authority. He’d go to prison.’
‘I think there are quite a few kids at Briars Hill who wouldn’t be too sorry about that. Sorry. That’s no help to Tamara, is it? Look, leave it with me. I’ll do the rounds this afternoon. Let the world know I’m back. I’ll start to put the word out casually and see what I can turn up . . . Hey, that lasagne looks good. Is there any more?’
Suzie was occupied, but in a lazy, Sunday afternoon sort of way. She was skimming fallen petals from the garden pond. Nick, more energetically, was hoeing the first signs of weeds from his cherished flower beds.
Suzie smiled as she netted the white and pink flotsam. It was amazing the difference it made having Tom back. The sun seemed to shine more vividly. The worries of this week shrank. Tom would come back with a simple explanation.
She was aware of movement behind her. She turned to find Millie leading someone across the lawn.
It was Lisa Dawson. Even without her husband, she looked scared.
Nick was right. There was a dark-red bruise behind that fall of hair.
Suzie dropped the net she was using and rubbed her wet hands on her jeans. ‘Lisa. How nice to see you.’
It felt the wrong thing to say. There had been that uncomfortable encounter at church this morning. Lisa’s husband had closed down the shutters on further contact.
Tamara and Millie were best friends. The families lived only a few streets apart. But Lisa and Suzie only met occasionally. They were not in the habit of visiting each other.
And it was evident that this was no social call. Lisa’s face was flushed and her breathing hurried.
‘I shouldn’t be here. Leonard’s playing tennis at the country club. But if he knows I’ve talked to you, he’ll be furious.’
‘Sit down.’ Suzie steered her towards the garden chairs. ‘Millie, get us some drinks, will you? Tea? Coffee? Fruit juice?’
‘Oh . . . I don’t know . . . Tea?’ Lisa looked distracted, as though such a simple question was beyond her agitated mind. ‘It’s Tamara. What we told you this morning isn’t true. She’s gone.’
