Jennie Ensor - The Girl in His Eyes

But what if she hadn’t been so special? What if he’d said the same thing to other girls?

West Kensington, she realised, several seconds after the train had stopped. She jumped out, escaping just before the doors clamped her between them.

The platform was empty. She walked up the steps, scarcely seeing them.

She should say something to her mother, or to Jane, or one of Emma’s teachers. She must protect Emma from any possible harm.

Only that would mean telling on her father. She’d never told anyone – she’d kept it a secret, just as she’d promised.

If she finds out, it will kill her.

As a child it had been easy to believe him. She’d imagine her mother crying, sinking onto her bed, shutting the bedroom door and never coming out. And what might he do, if she broke her promise? When her father got angry, he could be frightening. Her mother, her brother, herself – they had all cowered before him, dreading what he might do. He’d chased her out of the house once, when she was fifteen, for daring to answer him back, his face red, yelling that she needed to be taught a lesson; after that she’d spent even less time at home.

Now though, she was a grown woman. Surely, she would be able to deal with her father now, however angry he might get.

What about her mother, though? Her mother loved him, depended on him. How would she cope if she knew the truth?

Laura turned in the direction of her flat.

It was impossible. Telling was as bad as not telling.

But her father should face the consequences of what he’d done, shouldn’t he? Her mother would get through it somehow. Wouldn’t it be the best thing, to tell the truth?

It’s dark, except for a glimmer of light just above the horizon. The place is nowhere she knows. There’s no shelter. The ground is strewn with small rocks that rip into the soles of her shoes. She is running as fast as she can, every so often stumbling then righting herself. She keeps on running.

Someone is coming after her. There’s a thud-thud-thud like distant explosions. Bullets, or machine-gun fire? She runs faster, desperate now. But the thuds get louder and the interval between them gets shorter, and she knows that to try to escape is useless. Whoever is chasing her will not give up. Soon they will catch her and her life will be over.

For hours after the dream, Laura lay in bed with the light on, alert to the slightest sound. Her skin was still clammy, her heartbeat hard in her chest. She had never dreamed such a thing before, or felt such fear.

It’s not real, she told herself once again. You’re safe at home. No one is coming after you.

Yet she knew, in a way, she was wrong. It was her father who was chasing her – there was no doubt in her mind. She couldn’t get away from him, not even in her sleep.

Suzanne removed the green silk dress from the hanger and let its cool smoothness linger on her skin. She put the dress down on the bed. It made her cleavage deeper and her waist narrower – she knew perfectly well – and her eyes startlingly green, as if all the grey flecks had been washed away. It was just the thing for Katherine’s party.

Her skin looked brighter and firmer than usual, she thought with a spike of pleasure as she removed a blob of mascara from beneath her lower lashes. She could pass for forty-five, or younger. She brushed powder onto her cheeks. Paul’s birthday came into her mind again, and his outburst in the kitchen. What had made him so bad tempered, on his birthday of all days? He’d made the children leave early, and she’d been hoping to talk more to Laura about how she was getting on. Oh, well. Laura hadn’t been in the mood to talk anyway. She’d been withdrawn for most of her visit. Not just withdrawn. Strained, on edge, almost as if she thought something terrible would happen.

Suzanne put down the make-up brush and let out a long breath.

She’d noticed it many times, Laura’s reluctance to engage during family get-togethers. Family get-togethers wasn’t quite the right term – her family didn’t joyously come together as they did in adverts and American films. The kids came to visit more from a sense of obligation, because they didn’t want to let down their mother. This time though, Laura’s uneasiness had been palpable. Her silence during the meal. The way she’d darted away after talking to Paul, and then insisted on leaving virtually immediately… Laura was uncomfortable around her own father.

She had an instinct to deny the thought. But a deeper part of herself knew it to be true.

From outside, the lazy growl of a powerful engine. At the squeak of the front gate, she sprayed Chanel No. 5 into her cleavage and reached for the dress.

Paul stepped towards her, two bunches of red roses outstretched.

‘Darling,’ he said, ‘you look stunning. I’m not sure I should let you out in that dress.’

He went to the fridge and helped himself to a beer, talking non-stop of his day at work. He and his sales team had thrashed out the details of the new incentive scheme to everyone’s satisfaction. Not only that, the managing director had promised Paul and the other directors a five per cent pay rise, unexpectedly generous after the year’s disappointing results.

They left shortly afterwards. Suzanne climbed into the Porsche that was parked next to her reliable Toyota hatchback. Paul drove too fast as usual, continuing through the first flash of red at the traffic lights and slowing just in time at the roundabout. She looked at him sternly, but did not speak, bracing her left leg against the door, a position she half hoped might afford greater protection in the event of a crash.

He had taken extra care getting ready, she noticed. He wore his cashmere jacket and black linen shirt; his hair, damp from the shower, was combed back from his forehead. He had the same forties film star look about him that he’d had the night they met – at a dreadful party where she’d known no one except the host. For an interminable time, she’d floundered among a gaggle of self-important people, who all seemed to be either excessively successful entrepreneurs or TV producers, all the time trying to ignore the fact that it was impossible to walk properly because her heels were ridiculously high. The very moment she decided to leave, Paul appeared and said, ‘I’ve come to rescue you. You shouldn’t be miserable, you’re the prettiest girl here.’

Clouds of white billowed from their mouths as they walked along the icy pavement to Katherine and Jeremy’s house. Jeremy greeted them and asked Paul to show him the new car; Suzanne went inside, alone.

The hall walls were a deep shade of burgundy. Nothing in Katherine’s house ever looked out of fashion or out of place, as it did at home. She was a good hostess too, introducing the people who needed introducing, remembering what they had in common, and never getting flustered when something burnt or the bottle opener disappeared.

Suzanne hesitated in the doorway of the spacious living area. It appeared to be stuffed with a significant proportion of Wimbledon’s population. At one end of the room, couples were swaying to a Latin rhythm; Katherine’s daughter was dancing with a young man who didn’t look like her boyfriend. There were familiar faces from previous parties. James, from Jeremy’s bridge club, and Sheila or Shauna, from Katherine’s wine tasting group. And who was that woman with the long nose, a purple boa draped around her neck, chomping down things on cocktail sticks?

She ventured inside. Katherine emerged from a group of glamorously-dressed women, all talking loudly and at once; newly-cut hair framed her jaw.

‘Hello, m’dear.’ Katherine plonked a kiss on Suzanne’s cheek. ‘Love the dress! Let me take that bottle.’ She tugged at her arm. ‘Come with me, there’s someone I want you to meet.’