Jennie Ensor - The Girl in His Eyes

‘I’ll never forget this,’ he said. ‘Not for as long as I live.’

It was over. He wanted to hold her close for a little while longer. But they had to leave now.

‘Put your clothes back on, sweetie. Don’t you want to have a wash in the bathroom before we go?’ She didn’t seem to hear him. A cloudy dribble was making its way down her thigh. ‘Sit up, that’s a girl.’

Emma looked bewildered. He left her sitting on the sofa, naked, hugging her knees.

In the bathroom, he quickly examined the mess of red scratches on his lower back. Luckily, most weren’t deep. They would heal before Suzanne had a chance to notice – if he was careful. He would leave his T-shirt on in bed for a while.

He washed himself quickly. The joy and exhilaration were fading. In their place, a heaviness, pressing down on him, trying to suck the air out of him. He heard a voice from somewhere.

Scumbag. You shouldn’t have done that.

He stood for a few moments, holding on to the basin. A voice in his head? This wasn’t like him. He wasn’t one of those nutters who heard voices. He was sweating royally now, his heart all over the place.

Come on , he silently replied. This isn’t fair. She wanted it too. The blush on her cheeks, the hot little breaths. They were evidence, weren’t they ? He’d intended to loiter on the edges, stay a gentleman to the last, but it had been easier than he’d imagined to break through that little barrier – perhaps she’d tried it before, with one of the boys at school. She hadn’t pushed him away, had she? Not after that first bout of resistance, that sudden attack with her nails. She’d let him slide in to taste those sweet depths.

They wouldn’t see it that way, would they? The people she told. They would make out he’d done something wrong.

Shit.

Paul turned on the tap and lowered his hands beneath the gush of water. He tried to think straight, to get control of himself. What had he done? He shouldn’t have let himself go like that. Christ, he was a fucking idiot. He was pushing his luck to think he could get away with it a second time. After all these years, Laura had never said anything to Suzanne as far as he knew – yet it was always there, lurking in his mind, the thought that one day she might break her promise and expose him. Lately, since her visit, the thought had pressed down on him more than ever, waking him in the stillness of the night. And now, he’d gone and strung a second weight around his neck. They could get him for this. They could well and truly hang him up by the balls. What would happen now, for Christ’s sake?

Emma will go blabbing to her mother, that’s what. She’ll tell her mother, and all her friends at school, that she was raped by the man who was meant to be looking after her .

When he came back into the living room, Emma was dressed. She sat on the sofa, head lowered, both arms wrapped around the bag on her lap. The lace of her trainer trailed across the carpet.

‘Don’t look so miserable, Em.’

She didn’t respond. A smudge of pinkish gloss hung below her bottom lip. He reached into his pocket for his handkerchief and wiped it off.

‘I want to go now,’ she said in a small voice, not looking at him.

He checked his watch: 5.11pm, Jane would be back at home soon. He switched on his phone in case she called.

‘Before I take you home, Emma, I want you to promise me something.’ He waited for her to look up at him. ‘You must promise not to tell anyone about this.’

Her eyes flickered slightly, as if assessing the seriousness of his request.

‘You promised you wouldn’t do anything,’ she said. ‘You lied.’

‘I didn’t mean to do that. I’m sorry.’

Why did you then? her eyes demanded. But she stayed silent.

He moved so his face was level with hers.

‘Emma, you mustn’t tell anyone about what we did just now – not even your mum. If you tell her, or anyone else, do you know what I’ll do?’

She moved her head slightly.

He thought quickly. What the fuck could he do? It had better work, whatever it was.

‘I’ll show your mum the photos. And I’ll put them on social media. They give it away, Emma. They show how much you wanted me, how you were trying to tempt me. Your face was full of it. No one will buy that it was all just meant for some model agency. You know what your mum will think about you then, don’t you? What all your friends will think? That you’re just a little slut, gagging for it. You wouldn’t want that, would you?’

Her mouth opened. She blinked rapidly.

‘I swear, I’ll never tell anyone.’

‘Remember, Emma. I meant what I said. Keep quiet, or you’ll regret it.’

She nodded, her face white.

Thank God he’d got through to her. It was bad to talk to her like that, but now she wouldn’t tell on him. If his luck held out, no one would ever suspect a thing.

On the way back, Emma stared out of the window. Despite his efforts to lighten the mood, her silence was unbroken, a cloud of poison filling the car.

He knew that it was his fault she was like this. It wasn’t how he’d planned their last moments together. He wanted his cheeky, high-spirited girl back again. Not this sourpuss, off its milk. But he hadn’t done anything so very bad, had he? He’d only given her a foretaste of what she would experience later. She would be back to her old self soon enough. One day, years from now, she’d probably brag to her boyfriends about this older guy who had taken her swimming, and taught her a thing or two outside the pool as well.

He turned in to Jane’s road. Kids were playing with their bikes on the pavement. Suddenly, Emma looked at him.

‘You lied about the photos too, didn’t you? You don’t know anyone in a model agency, do you? You just said that to get what you wanted.’

A knife twisted in his heart. What could he say to that ?

‘I’m sure you’ll find an agency soon. Really. You have talent, looks—’

‘I don’t care about modelling anymore,’ she said, quietly, looking ahead through the windscreen. ‘You can keep the photos, I never want to see them.’

He pulled up in front of Jane’s. Behind the curtains, the windows were unlit.

‘Goodbye, Em. I’ll miss you.’ He squeezed her hand. It was cold, lifeless.

She pulled her hand free and stepped out of the car. The door clunked shut. The finality of the sound struck him, made his throat clench tight.

This was it then, the moment he’d been dreading. He watched Emma open the gate and walk down the path to the house. He waited for her to turn her key in the lock and go inside, then he drove home.

Baked beans, 99p a can. Laura put three tins in her basket and hurried on to the breakfast cereals, ignoring the stacked freezer of ready meals. She chose Sainsbury’s own brand porridge oats, the cheapest per kilogram, and made a quick calculation.

Three tins of baked beans, a packet of oats, four bananas, four apples, a wholemeal loaf, a packet of potatoes, a carton of apple juice. It wasn’t quite ten pounds. She had just enough money for some eggs, and maybe a bottle of shampoo.

At the supermarket checkout, she handed over three five-pound notes and took the change.

The day was cool and drizzly. She glanced at the betting shop as she passed. A man in a cheap suit hurried out and strode off, humming under his breath. Perhaps she could bet thirty pounds on a horse or a football game, and win hundreds. Except for office raffles and wagers with her brother, she’d never bet on anything in her life. Then a woman of around sixty, with wispy dark-rooted blonde hair and a depressed expression, came out and trudged along the pavement, head down.