Should Have Known Better

by A J McDine

  ‘Is there anything I can do?’ asked Adam, hovering in the doorway.

  ‘A glass of water? And a flannel from the bathroom?’

  He nodded and reappeared seconds later with a warm, wet flannel. Kate smiled her thanks.

  ‘I’ll get that water,’ he said, disappearing again.

  Kate wiped Chloe’s face. ‘Finished?’

  ‘Think so,’ she mumbled.

  ‘Let’s get you cleaned up.’

  Kate couldn’t remember the last time she’d undressed her daughter. Chloe had always been ridiculously independent, even as a toddler, insisting on choosing her own clothes and dressing herself. It made for some interesting sartorial choices. She teamed princess costumes with wellies and woolly hats, and tiny cream jodhpurs with ballet skirts. But if Kate tried to pick out an outfit, there would be tantrums.

  This evening there was no resistance as she took off Chloe’s boot, pulled down her jeans and eased her red top over her head. Stripped down to her bra and pants, Chloe shivered and wrapped her thin arms around herself.

  That’s when Kate noticed them. Two angry red marks wrapped around Chloe’s wrists like cuffs.

  Chapter Eighteen

  CHLOE

  Chloe felt her mum’s grip on her hand tighten.

  ‘How did you get those?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Those marks?’

  Her mum held up her left hand. Chloe forced herself to focus on the red weal that circled her wrist. She shook her head slowly.

  ‘Don’t remember.’

  She didn’t like the way her mum was staring at her with a frozen expression on her face. ‘Mum, what is it?’

  She let go of Chloe’s hand and pointed to her own collarbone. You’ve got a mark here, too.’ She frowned. ‘It looks like a -’

  ‘Looks like what, Mum?’

  She gave a little shake of her head. ‘Nothing.’

  Chloe shivered, and her mum stood up. ‘Let’s get you cleaned up properly. Can you make it to the bathroom?’

  ‘What about the party?’

  ‘Sod the party. Rory and Grandpa can look after everyone.’

  Her mum helped her to her feet and held out her dressing gown. Chloe swayed as she wrapped herself in it. Her head was woolly as if it was stuffed with a whole packet of cotton wool balls, and her arms and legs felt as though they didn't belong to her.

  ‘I feel dizzy.’

  ‘Don’t worry. I’ve got you.’

  They made their way across the bedroom floor at a snail’s pace. A small knock at the door made Chloe jump.

  ‘It’s all right. It’s only Adam,’ her mum said. ‘Come in.’

  He pushed the door open and set a glass of water on Chloe’s desk. ‘Anything else I can do?’

  ‘Perhaps you could find Rory and explain what’s happened? Tell him I’ll be down as soon as I can.’

  ‘Of course. Then we’d better be off. Ben’s not looking too hot, either.’ He gave Chloe’s mum a rueful smile. ‘Teenagers, eh?’

  Chloe felt her mum stiffen, but her voice was light when she answered. ‘Tell me about it.’

  Her mum was treating her like she was about three, running the bath and pouring in copious amounts of bubble bath. Chloe wouldn’t have been surprised to find a couple of plastic ducks lurking in the bubbles. She unhooked her bra, stepped out of her pants and peeled off her socks one by one. Slipping into the bath, she tipped her head back, so only her eyes, nose and mouth were above the water.

  Her mum flipped down the lid of the toilet seat and sat down. Chloe pushed herself up and stared at the ceiling.

  ‘Tell me what happened tonight, Chloe.’

  ‘I told you. I can’t remember.’

  ‘But it’s not like you to get drunk like that.’

  She was silent because her mum was right. It wasn’t.

  ‘Those marks on your wrists,’ her mum continued. ‘I’m worried…’

  Chloe closed her eyes, held her breath and disappeared completely under the water this time, only emerging when the pressure in her chest became unbearable. Her mum was staring at her, worry lines cutting deep furrows in her forehead. She took a breath, stopped, then blurted, ‘Did someone hurt you?’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Of course they didn’t.’

  ‘Are you sure? This is important, Chloe. Tell me what you do remember.’

  She forced her mind back to the beginning of the evening. ‘I had three glasses of mulled wine, and that was all I was going to have, honestly.’ She glanced at her mum. ‘Then, Ben wanted to hang out in the kitchen together. He gave me a bottle of beer.’

  ‘And you drank that?’

  She could still taste the sharp tang of the lager, the fizz of bubbles on her tongue. She remembered that all right. But then things were hazy. Disorientating. Random pictures flickering like an old black and white cine film…

  Dancing around the kitchen table, feeling as though she was floating on air.

  Her stomach lurching and a dash for the back door.

  Grass squelchy beneath her feet.

  Someone holding her hair back while she was sick.

  A handkerchief pressed into her hand.

  The taste of vomit.

  Fingers slipping between her top and her jeans.

  Hot breath on the back of her neck.

  And then nothing until Adam found her crying in the garden and helped her upstairs.

  ‘Chloe? Did you drink the beer?’ her mum pressed.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And after? What happened then?’

  Chloe chased the flickering images away. Her mind was playing tricks on her. Nothing had happened. She’d got drunk, blacked out and puked up, that was all. Nothing else. Nothing.

  ‘Nothing,’ she said, rearing up out of the bath.

  Her mum scooped up her pants, socks and bra and dropped them in the wicker laundry basket.

  Chloe grabbed the soap and a flannel and began scrubbing at her arms. A thumping headache and an overwhelming weariness had replaced the fuzzy feeling. All she wanted to do was curl up in bed, pull her duvet over her head and slide into oblivion.

  ‘Sweetheart -’

  ‘For God’s sake, can you drop it? I was pissed, Mum. Probably fell over and battered my wrists myself. Or someone was helping me to my feet. I’ve learned my lesson, all right? I won’t be getting drunk again anytime soon. So can you please stop fussing and leave me alone? Because. Nothing. Happened.’

  Chloe closed her eyes and, to her relief, her mum finally took the hint.

  ‘OK, I’ll leave you in peace. But I’m not going to lock the door. And I’ll be in my room if you need me.’

  Chloe gave the tiniest of nods, and the door closed softly. Letting the water wash over her, she fingered her left wrist. It was red, yes, but it didn’t feel sore. Remembering something her mum had said, she peered down at her chest. Just visible below her right collarbone was a reddish mark the size of a fifty pence piece.

  Dozens and dozens of tiny burst capillaries under her skin.

  A love bite.

  Chloe shivered, despite the warmth of the bath.

  She prodded it with a finger, hoping it would disappear, but it refused to fade. How the hell had that happened? Had she kissed Ben before she’d stumbled out into the garden to be sick? She ran her tongue over her lips and thought back. Ben had been antsy with her at first, for sure. But once he’d had a few beers, his animosity had disappeared, and they’d had a giggle. In fact, she suddenly recalled, it had been his idea to turn on the radio and dance. But she didn’t remember kissing him. She didn’t remember kissing anyone.

  But that didn’t explain the love bite on her collarbone.

  A terrifying thought occurred to her. What if something had happened? What if she and Ben had…

  A feeling of nausea flowed from her stomach into her oesophagus, and she clamped her hand to her mouth and breathed deeply. Think. But her mind stubbornly refused to co-operate. If she had any memories at all
, they were buried so deeply she couldn’t even begin to winkle them out.

  Think. There would be other signs, wouldn’t there? Evidence? The word was so clinical, so evocative of a criminal trial, of a courtroom, that Chloe’s already pounding heart beat a little faster.

  She tried to marshal her thoughts. She had red marks on her wrists and a love bite. Maybe she and Ben had shared a kiss and a drunken fumble. Ben’s hot breath on the back of her neck. Ben’s fingers slipping between her top and her jeans. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d snogged a boy she hadn’t fancied, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. It wasn’t the end of the world. As long as that was all it was.

  Because she’d know if she’d gone all the way, right? Especially the first time. She’d feel different. And she didn’t.

  Chapter Nineteen

  KATE

  Kate closed her bedroom door softly, leaned against it and closed her eyes. No matter how tightly she screwed them shut, she couldn’t wipe out the expression on Chloe’s face as she’d lain in the bath and claimed nothing had happened. She’d looked vulnerable. Hesitant. Lost. Kate stumbled to her bed and sank onto the covers. She had a bad feeling about this. A very bad feeling.

  Did she believe Chloe only had a couple of drinks? She’d never had cause to doubt her before. She should have been keeping an eye on her, but she’d been too busy flirting with Adam.

  Shame overwhelmed her as she remembered consciously mirroring his body language, laughing a little too loudly at his anecdotes and touching his arm a little too often. It was pathetic. Desperate. What must he think of her? And what kind of a mother was she? Too busy flinging herself at the first good-looking man to cross her path for years to realise her only child was drinking herself stupid and, even worse, was being mauled by a randy teenager.

  Kate hoped to God that was all it was. But those marks on her wrists. That love bite. Kate raked her hands through her hair. How could Chloe not know what had happened? Even though Kate had been as high as a kite on that starlit beach in Thailand eighteen years ago, she remembered every kiss, every murmur, every touch.

  A shrill toot-toot of a horn brought her back to the present. She walked stiffly to the window. Her father and Rory stood side by side on the driveway waving goodbye to the last of their guests, most of whom were staggering home guided by the beam of their torches. It was gone half eleven. Kate’s shoulders drooped at the thought of the inevitable carnage downstairs. But it could wait. She had more important things on her mind.

  She stepped out of her room and tapped on the bathroom door.

  ‘Chlo, are you still in there?’

  ‘I’m in my room,’ came a muffled voice from further along the landing. Kate found a pair of pyjamas in the airing cupboard and let herself into Chloe’s bedroom. Chloe was slumped on her bed, wrapped in a towel and her wet hair sticking to her shoulders like tendrils of seaweed.

  ‘Clean jimjams,’ Kate said, holding them out like a peace offering.

  ‘Thanks,’ Chloe muttered.

  While Chloe pulled on the pyjamas, towel-dried her hair and slid under her duvet, Kate busied herself picking up tea-stained mugs and empty chocolate wrappers. Chloe’s heart-shaped face was bloodless, and there were purple shadows under her eyes as dark as bruises. Kate’s eyes slid to the welts on her wrists, hoping she’d imagined them. But there they were, red and angry. Her mind made up, she perched on the edge of the bed and took Chloe’s hands.

  ‘How’re you feeling?’

  ‘A bit better, thanks. Think it helped, you know. Being sick.’

  Kate smoothed Chloe’s hair away from her face. ‘Good. Now you’ve sobered up a bit have you remembered anything else about tonight?’

  Chloe let out a long breath and shook her head. ‘Not this again.’

  ‘That beer Ben gave you.’ Kate chose her words carefully. ‘Did you watch him open it?’

  Chloe frowned. ‘Why?’ She paused. ‘Are you saying you think he drugged me?’

  ‘Of course not!’ Kate lied. ‘I’m trying to understand why you got so drunk so quickly.’

  ‘Oh my God, Mum. You should hear yourself. You sound totally paranoid. Of course Ben didn’t try to drug me. He’s a mate.’

  Is that all? Kate’s fingers traced the red band circling Chloe’s right wrist. She looked her daughter in the eye. ‘I think we should call the police.’

  Chloe snatched her hand away. ‘Are you mad?’ she screeched.

  ‘Just to talk things through with them. They have specialist officers who deal with this kind of thing.’

  Chloe’s eyes narrowed. ‘What kind of thing?’

  Kate leaned forwards and touched her collarbone. ‘Sexual assault.’

  Chloe threw her duvet off and stalked to the window. Her fists were clenched, and when she finally spoke her voice was tight.

  ‘How many times do I have to tell you? Nothing happened. Nothing, nadda, zilch. Ben didn’t drug me. He didn’t touch me. We danced together, that was all. We were having a laugh. Having fun. I know that’s a difficult concept for you to understand.’

  Kate flinched. It wasn’t like Chloe to be so caustic. ‘I’m not judging you if that’s what you think. You’re almost eighteen. You’re a young woman. It’s up to you what you do with Ben or anyone else for that matter. But no-one should be putting pressure on you to do something that makes you uncomfortable. No-one should be hurting you. What if I rang the police on your behalf? You needn’t speak to them. I could explain what happened and they could advise us on what we should do.'

  Chloe folded her arms across her chest. ‘I’m not doing anything.’

  Kate pressed on. ‘And if you still can’t remember what happened, they could take blood and urine samples to see if you were given anything. I could probably still find the beer bottle. They could test that, too. Then we'd have proof that Ben…’

  ‘Proof that Ben what? Drugged me? Touched me up? So what? It happens all the time. Boys get girls pissed. Boys get off with girls. It’s no big deal.’

  But Kate wasn’t listening. An unwelcome thought had occurred to her. ‘I should never have let you have a bath,’ she said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘The police doctor could have examined you. Taken swabs.’

  ‘Jes-sus.’ Chloe stretched the word to breaking point. Kate’s head swivelled in her direction.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Are you actually listening to me? Good. Because I’m only going to say this one more time. Nothing bad happened tonight, and Ben would never hurt me. I’m the one who hurt him by telling him I wanted to be friends. So please stop going on about it, OK? And don’t you dare phone the police.’ Her blazing eyes met Kate’s. ‘Because if you do, I will never, ever speak to you again.’ She clumped across the room and climbed back into bed. ‘Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.’ She switched off her bedside light, pulled the duvet under her chin and turned her back to Kate.

  ‘Don’t be angry with me, Chlo. I won’t call the police, I promise. And I won’t go on about what did or didn’t happen tonight. But please try to see it through my eyes. I want you to be safe, that's all. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.’

  As Kate hooked her little finger through the handles of two mugs they clinked together. The chocolate wrappers crackled as she balled them in her other hand. She nudged the door open with her foot and took one last look back at the huddled form of her daughter.

  ‘Night, sweetheart. Love you,’ she whispered into the darkness.

  The reply was fainter than the beat of a butterfly’s wings.

  ‘’Night, Mum. Love you, too.’

  When Kate finally arrived downstairs, her father had retired to bed, and Rory was loading glasses into the dishwasher.

  ‘You managed to get rid of everyone?’ Kate said, pouring herself a glass of water from the tap.

  Rory closed the dishwasher, and it launched into a wash cycle with a comforting rumble. ‘They all took the hint o
nce Lover Boy bailed. How’s Chloe? Still pissed?’

  ‘Sobered up a bit now.’ To her horror Kate’s eyes welled with tears. Chloe had looked so vulnerable curled up in her bed, her hair wet and her face bare of make-up, that Kate had wanted to wrap her arms around her and never let her go.

  She drank deeply and stared out of the window, trying to compose herself. She couldn’t betray Chloe’s trust by sharing her suspicions about Ben, even though the desire to talk it over with Rory was immense. She had to pretend everything was fine. She dropped the glass into the washing up bowl and rubbed her eyes. ‘I dare say she’ll have a whopper of a hangover in the morning.’

  ‘It already is the morning,’ Rory said. ‘Want a cuppa?’

  ‘I should clear up first.’ Kate gestured to the post-party detritus piled high on the kitchen table and worktops.

  ‘It’ll wait.’ Rory flicked on the kettle and reached for two mugs.

  Kate might want to forget the party had ever happened, but she couldn’t tell Rory why. She pulled up a chair, swept a couple of baking trays and some paper plates to one side and sat down.

  ‘So,’ he said, handing her a mug of tea. ‘You were quite the belle of the ball tonight.’

  ‘Do we have to talk about me?’

  ‘Three suitors no less. Adam, Patrick, and Pete.’

  ‘Pete’s not a suitor. He’s a friend. And Patrick’s my boss. He wanted to talk shop.’

  ‘So that leaves the delectable Adam,’ Rory said, smiling wickedly.

  Kate took a sip of her tea, scalding her lips. Adam had been great, helping with Chloe. At the thought of her daughter she tensed.

  ‘I should check on Chloe.’

  ‘She’ll be fine. Talk to me about Adam.’

  Kate knew from experience Rory wouldn’t shut up until she did. She scratched the back of her neck and sighed. ‘He’s not interested.’

  ‘He is. Take my word for it. I know a man on the prowl when I see one, sweetie. Did he ask you out?’