Jennie Ensor - The Girl in His Eyes

It was lying in wait for her – a hideous spider web stretched across the path, glinting in the sunshine. A collection of insects squirmed on silky threads. She stopped mid-step, a bleat of distress emerging from her mouth. One more inch and the thing would have wrapped itself around her face. She tore off a woody stem from the bush beside her and thrashed at the web until it was a white tangle at the end of her stick.

The phone was ringing, she realised, and had been for some time. She tossed down the stick and ran inside.

‘Hello?’

‘Hello, Suzanne. It’s me, Jane.’

She panted into the phone. ‘Hi, Jane, I was in the garden. Did you get my message? I left it yesterday.’

No answer. A surge of irritation.

‘Are you phoning from work?’

‘No, I’ve taken the day off.’ Jane’s tone was oddly flat. ‘There’s something I have to talk to you about, Suzanne.’

She went over to the kitchen table and sat down. ‘What is it?’

‘It’s about Paul. I’ve got something to tell you.’ Jane cleared her throat.

Her body went cold. Normally Jane would just come straight out with it. Were Paul and Jane having an affair after all? No, it wasn’t that. Somehow, she knew this would be about Emma.

‘Emma slept through her alarm again. I tried to get her up this morning and she said she wanted to stay in bed, she wasn’t up to going to school. Her breath smelt bad – she admitted she’s been taking my sleeping pills. I’d noticed a packet was missing but I thought I must have made a mistake.’

Her mind raced. How was this about Paul?

‘Why is she taking your pills? Why are you telling me this? I don’t understand.’

‘She didn’t want to tell me at first. But I said I wasn’t going to leave the room until she did.’

‘So, what was it? What was the matter?’

Silence at the other end.

‘She told me what happened. The day Paul took her swimming for the last time.’

Her breaths were coming faster and shallower; she couldn’t suck up enough air. This was turning into a childish guessing game. Only she knew it wasn’t a game.

‘ What happened, Jane?’

‘Did he tell you he brought her back to your house afterwards?’

Somewhere inside her head, a dull roar began.

‘Yes, I knew about that. Paul said they came out of the pool early, so he asked if she’d like to come back here to watch a film.’

‘Emma told me that after they’d watched the film, Paul took some photos of her.’

‘I know.’ Why couldn’t her friend get to the point? ‘She asked him to take some photographs of her, to help her get into modelling. I saw one a few days ago, that’s why I called—’

‘It was his idea.’ Anger transformed Jane’s voice. Quieter than normal, the words precisely enunciated, leaving pointed gaps between each word. Jane had never spoken to her like this before. ‘It was just his ploy to get her to take her clothes off. He said he knew someone in an agency, and he could take some photos to help her get in. She’s an impressionable girl and he knew it. He worked out exactly what he had to do to get her where he wanted her.’ Jane’s voice began to tremble. ‘He told her he had to get pictures of her in her underwear, or the agency wouldn’t be interested.’ A pause. ‘And did he tell you what else he did?’

‘What are you talking about?’ Suzanne gripped the handset, her breath sucked out of her. What did Jane mean, ‘what else he did’?

Jane carried on.

‘I really don’t know what induced her do it. She sat beside him, wearing next to nothing. He promised he would only look. But he…’ Jane’s voice cut off then resumed with grim determination, the tremble more obvious now. ‘He stuck his fingers into her. He wouldn’t let her go. And then he put his fucking prick inside her. My beautiful, innocent daughter, who’s never been with anyone. He was too strong, too heavy, she tried to stop him but she couldn’t get him off her. She had to lie there while he did his vile business.’

Jane’s voice collapsed. Only a stretched-out, sibilant sound. A hiss, not quite a wail. Then only breathing, the ragged, clutching breaths of pure grief.

The strange roar filled her head again. She opened her mouth to speak but no sound came out.

Jane’s voice reappeared, its strength back.

‘You do understand what I’m saying, don’t you? He violated my little girl and she’ll never be the same again.’

Suzanne listened to a sound from outside in the garden – the thin, repetitive note of a bird. She was unable to think, let alone speak.

‘He made her promise not to tell anyone. He threatened her. Emma said she wanted to tell me that day but she thought I’d blame her for what happened. She blamed herself for letting him take the photographs – she thought she’d encouraged him, that somehow, what he did was her fault. She believed all the nonsense he told her.’ A snort of contempt. ‘She was even scared I’d be angry with her.’

Jane’s words bobbed up and down inside her head like drunks who couldn’t find their way home. He put his fucking prick inside her…

‘I can’t believe it,’ she said at last. ‘Paul couldn’t have done that. He couldn’t have.’

‘I’m sorry, Suzanne, it’s not a nice thing to have to tell someone.’ Jane’s voice was breaking up. ‘But it’s not a nice thing to have your daughter tell you she’s been molested and raped by your friend’s husband. How could he have done that? She’s only twelve, for Christ’s sake.’

‘It can’t be true.’

‘It is true – don’t you think I’d know when my own daughter is telling the truth?’ Jane’s voice blasted in her ear. ‘Do you think she would make up something like that?’

‘I just can’t believe Paul could have done a thing like that.’

She felt sick, as if she’d just been forced to eat a large carton of chocolate ice cream in one go. This couldn’t be right. Someone was playing a terrible trick on her.

‘Why don’t you ask him?’ Jane said, in a mocking tone. ‘He knows what he did to my daughter. Ask him to tell you all about it.’

‘Can’t we talk about this face to face? I’ll drive over now.’

A sneering little chuckle. ‘I’d rather you didn’t, actually. Our friendship is over, don’t you get it? And I swear, if your husband comes near me or my daughter ever again, I’ll kill him with my own hands. He’s a disgusting pervert—’

‘Jane, don’t—’

‘He should be locked up so he can’t molest anyone else. I’m going to report him to the police so he gets the punishment he deserves.’

‘No, you’re wrong.’

The phone buzzed in her ear.

Suzanne poured out half a tumbler of Gordon’s. She drank it neat, holding on to the worktop to steady herself. The liquid numbed her tongue and burned her throat. She drank the rest then sat at the kitchen table. A shudder went through her. It seemed to pass through her skin and carry on, into her blood and bone, going deeper and deeper, until it became a repugnant, evil thing, slithering inside her. She shut her eyes.

Oh God. How could such a thing be true? Surely, such a frightful thing could not have happened.

A yellow wedge of sunlight slanted in through the window. Outside, a bird piped cheerfully as if everything was normal, and Marmaduke was meowing at the back door.

Paul’s key turned in the lock. With the words she had selected earlier, Suzanne went toward the door. Fear had been working on her body all afternoon, turning her insides to a pulp. She stopped in the hall, a few feet away from him. He put down his laptop case and took off his jacket.

‘Jane phoned this morning,’ she said. ‘She’s accused you of something, something very serious. It’s to do with Emma.’