Jennie Ensor - The Girl in His Eyes

‘Why did you have to do those things to me? I don’t understand. I’m your daughter. I loved you. I trusted you to look after me.’

His fingers fluttered around his glass. On his face was confusion, and then something else, but she wasn’t sure what. Not fear. A disturbance to his composure, tinged with hostility. In the silence that followed she concentrated on letting each breath come and go, trying to overcome her body’s manic reaction, trying to push down her fear as far as it would go.

‘It wasn’t that I didn’t love you, Laura,’ he said, very softly. ‘You must understand. I loved you too much.’

‘You loved me so you thought you could do anything you wanted to me?’

‘No, it was just…’ His gaze flitted about the kitchen. ‘There was something about you. I longed to be close to you. When you were small, I loved how you listened to me, you didn’t judge me, you forgave me for things. You were what I needed, it was like… like I’d fallen in love with you.’

A shudder went through her. What sort of explanation was that? She couldn’t bear to be in the room with him any longer.

Her father was staring at the floor. He cleared his throat then took a gulp of Scotch before speaking again.

‘Maybe I went a little too far—’

‘A little too far? What you did to me was abuse. You know that, don’t you?’

‘I think you’ve exaggerated things in your head, it was a long time ago—’

‘Don’t you remember? You put your hands all over me. You forced me to…’ She couldn’t say the words.

‘Whatever I did, or didn’t do, Laura, you must know this. You were special. I will never feel those things for anyone else, ever again. Not anyone.’

He was earnest, as earnest as she’d ever heard him. Could he be telling the truth?

‘Why should I believe you? You couldn’t control yourself with me, and I’m your daughter. You didn’t care what you did to me, how much you hurt me. I meant nothing to you.’

‘You’re wrong, you’re so wrong. You meant the world to me.’

‘Then why couldn’t you love me like any normal father? That’s all I wanted, Dad. Was it so much to ask?’

He stayed silent.

‘You forgot I had feelings,’ she carried on. ‘You made me keep quiet so I had no one to turn to. You didn’t care what happened to me.’

The rest was waiting to burst out of her mouth.

I’m not like other girls, do you know that? I don’t trust men, I can’t let them love me. I try not to feel anything, because I know deep down I’m only a girl for guys to fuck. That’s what you did to me.

Nothing came, though. He was waiting for her to run out of steam. He knew she would.

‘Why shouldn’t I tell Mum, right now, about everything you did to me?’ She heard the edge of anger in her voice, her words losing their firmness. ‘How you stalked me around the house, waiting for a chance to get your hands on me. How you showed me those disgusting pictures, and what you made me do that time.’ Her heart began to race at the onset of the memory, even now, all these years later. The rest came out in a whisper. ‘Don’t you think she has a right to know the truth?’

‘It wasn’t like that, Laura. You’re confused, you’re getting things mixed up. I was affectionate towards you, yes. I loved you so much, it was hard for me. I’d never experienced that intensity before. I may have crossed the line sometimes, I admit. But I never meant to hurt you.’

‘No, that’s not how it was.’ It was what she should have expected, surely, that he would downplay or deny everything she said.

He carried on as if she’d said nothing. ‘I wish I’d been a better father to you, I’ve wished it a thousand times, but you shouldn’t feel you have to tell your mother all these things you’re convinced happened, just to get back at me.’

‘That’s not the reason I have to tell her.’ Her voice sounded weak, irrelevant. ‘She should know who she’s really married to—’

‘Laura, there’s something you should know.’ He exhaled heavily. ‘Do you remember that time your mother went to stay with her friend in the New Forest? After Richard died. It wasn’t just a trip away. She had a breakdown. She didn’t want you and Daniel to see her in the state she was in. She was crying all the time, knocking back tranquillisers and sleeping pills, you name it. When she got back she started to see a therapist.’

‘A breakdown?’ She blinked at him. Of course, her mother had been upset when her brother died of a heart attack after a routine game of squash – Richard had been in his mid-forties with apparently no serious health problems. She’d heard nothing of any breakdown.

‘She didn’t want to admit it was so serious,’ her father went on. ‘But that’s what the therapist told her. He said she had difficulty coping with sudden change – the loss of loved ones especially – probably because of the trauma she suffered as a small child when her father drowned.’ He paused for a few seconds, jiggling his glass. ‘The point is, Laura, mentally she’s very fragile. Another severe shock to her system could trigger another breakdown. It could be much worse next time.’

He drank the rest of his Scotch.

How convenient , she wanted to say. This is all ridiculous. My mother’s not like that. But shock was seeping into her brain, jumbling her thoughts. A breakdown. Her father wouldn’t lie about something like that, would he?

‘Laura, I understand why you feel the need to say something to her. She’s your mother, after all. But think of the consequences.’ His tone was calm, rational. He had seized on her doubt, turning it to his advantage. ‘What’s the point of dragging up the past now, after all these years? What good could it possibly do? I’m not going to do anything to harm Emma or anyone else.’

She sat, fixed to her chair, a rigid block, unable to move or speak. The last of her self-possession was leaving her body. He’d turned her into a child. Once again, he was exerting his paternal authority over her and she could do nothing.

‘Your mother and I have been together for twenty-five years. We’ve built a life together. Do you want to take all that away from her? Everything would be tainted; her happiest memories would count for nothing. Imagine what effect it could have on her. It would always be on your conscience.’

Before he could say anything else, she got up from the table and hurried towards the door, nearly stumbling in her effort to get away from him. He still had his power over her, even now she was a grown woman. Yet again he had taken control and turned everything around.

On her way home, she remembered her words to her father.

I was your daughter, I loved you.

She sat on the Tube to West Kensington, not noticing the jerking and swaying of the train, or the people seated around her. Her throat clogged up and tears filled her eyes. She wiped them away, too proud to let herself fall apart in public. But she wanted to howl, to cry until she had run out of tears, on and on.

It was true, she had loved him. A long time ago, back when her family had seemed not so different to any other family. Back when she’d thought her father was special, in a good way.

She’d been someone else, then. A little girl who trusted those she loved as a matter of course. And why shouldn’t she have trusted him? He’d seemed like a good father. He’d encouraged her to learn things, to do things.

He explained how planes stay in the air and why the sky is blue. He showed her pictures of Vancouver Island, Montreal, and the Rocky Mountains, and all the places he’d loved as a child. He played her his favourite music. He said she was clever and praised her when she did well at school. He bought her a book about the ancient Egyptians for her ninth birthday, and took her to the British Museum and encouraged her when she told him she wanted to be an archaeologist when she grew up. He taught her to play chess and tennis, to swim, and to dive from the high board. He read to her on winter afternoons – Alice in Wonderland, The Lord of the Rings, Tales of the Unexpected . They took turns to read poems aloud – The Rime of the Ancient Mariner and The Dong with a Luminous Nose had been her favourites.