Jennie Ensor - The Girl in His Eyes

Everything made sense now. The change in Laura hadn’t been about her new school or becoming a teenager, as Paul and others had suggested, and as she herself had come to believe. It had been because of what her father was doing to her. Paul had been abusing Laura. And now he had abused another girl. What Emma had told Jane was true. Not Paul’s version.

A wave of panic went through her, a wall of black coming down. There wasn’t enough air to breathe. The room around her began to fade and the muscles in her legs seemed to be dissolving. She sank onto the pedal bin, holding on to the counter to stop herself from sliding to the floor.

The truth was staring her in the face: her husband was a child molester. He really had committed a depraved act against her friend’s daughter, one that she could not even begin to imagine, that she could not bear to think about.

But already her imagination was clearing a space to allow in something dreadful. She saw Paul removing his jeans. His hands rough, insistent, pulling at Emma’s underwear. Emma’s confusion turning to fear. The cries submerged in her throat, his hand over her mouth, perhaps. A look of appalled helplessness on the girl’s face as she realised what he was going to do…

Her stomach rebelled. Suzanne hurried over to the sink and vomited.

Emma’s face came back to her, and that flirty expression. Suzanne ran into the office, rifled through the desk drawers and pulled the camera from its case. She swiped past the more recent photographs until she found the one of Emma. It had changed, though it was exactly the same as before. No longer was it a girl flaunting herself, trying it on. It was simply a girl eager to please in whatever way she could because she didn’t know any better. A girl who was losing her way, a girl who needed a more attention, more love.

A girl who had stolen her husband’s heart.

The twelve-year-old her husband had fucked.

A wave of nausea came over her.

She pressed the bin icon.

Are you sure you want to delete this photograph?

She selected Yes then she threw the camera across the room. It hit the wall with a dull thud.

Laura picked up the bottle of iridescent green nail varnish from the magazine beside her on the sofa and put it down again. She hadn’t yet called Daniel. There was still time before she had to leave for work. She grabbed her mobile from the coffee table.

‘Hey, big brother, congratulations! I heard you’re about to become a respectable man – or whatever it is that blokes become when they tie the knot.’

A chuckle at the other end. ‘In big trouble, I think.’

‘I couldn’t believe it when Mum told me. I thought you were going to wait till you were thirty, at least.’

‘It’s Karen’s fault. She told me she wasn’t planning on staying single for the rest of her life.’ His voice became serious. ‘No, we’ve been thinking about it for a while, but we decided not to say anything till we were sure.’

‘You have been a dark horse.’ She twisted a strand of damp hair around her finger. ‘I’m really happy for you, Daniel.’ It was true. But for some reason she also felt sad.

‘What about you, sis? When are you going to get hitched?’

‘Not for a while, I should think.’

‘You never know, you might bump into Mr Right next week.’

‘I doubt it.’

‘Are you working tonight?’

‘Yes, I have to leave soon.’

She paused. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him the truth, that she wasn’t actually working in a nightclub, but a lap dancing club. The words didn’t come. What if he told her how stupid she was to do such a thing? What if he was tempted to tell their mother? It would worry Mum to death if she knew where she really worked.

They talked a little more, mainly about houses that he and Karen had looked at buying in Bristol, then Daniel said he had to go, dinner was on the table. He would be in touch.

Laura put down the phone. Why couldn’t she let on how she was really feeling, rather than pretending everything was OK? She had wanted to talk to her brother properly, to let him know she needed his help, that she couldn’t talk to Mum and there was no one else to talk to now Rachel had gone. But she’d said nothing. Why could she not let him see the other Laura, the little girl hidden underneath her blasé exterior, the Laura who was now dangerously close to chugging off the rails?

She and her brother had shared so much as children. Cycling in the park, hanging out in the lido, skateboarding in the street. Saturday afternoons had been a refuge from their parents’ constant fighting. All the games they’d played together – conker contests, darts matches, arm-wrestling – and the laughter… An ache took hold of her throat. Once, after his trumpet lesson, she’d teased him when he was practising an obviously challenging scale. ‘Dan, maybe you should learn the piano instead?’ He’d thrown a cushion at her and they ended up having a cushion fight. One split open and made a mess of the living room floor, and another hit the cat, who screeched and hurtled away. They’d both fallen on the sofa, laughing like idiots.

Then, around the age of twelve, their relationship changed. It was hard to recall any details now, and she wasn’t sure why. Had he sensed something wrong between her and her father? Or was it just about them going to different schools and growing up?

Laura let out a long breath and poured another glass of Jack Daniels.

Whatever the reason, she’d got used to keeping things quiet and he’d stopped wanting to know about them. Right now, she couldn’t share the most important things in her life with him – like what she was going to do next. Yes, she knew in her heart that to carry on at Rascals would be choosing the path to nowhere, the start of a long slope towards self-destruction, but what else was she going to do? The future didn’t seem real anymore. Tomorrow was hazy, and next week wasn’t even above the horizon. She would go to the club tonight and do what she had to – whatever was wanted of her. It made sense in a way she couldn’t explain to anyone, and in a way that Rachel couldn’t possibly understand. This was what she deserved, wasn’t it? To be nothing but a plaything, a piece of meat.

Laura pulled the brush from the bottle of nail varnish. In three deft strokes, she’d painted her big toenail.

When she arrived at Rascals, Ken was on the front desk training the new receptionist on the phone system. She was a heavily made-up young woman, with breasts that were thrust forward by her bra, her low neckline revealing a startling amount of cleavage. Every few seconds she nodded her head eagerly.

Laura waited, trying to catch Ken’s eye.

‘Sarina. How can I help you?’

‘What we talked about last time – the private room – I’ve changed my mind. I’d like to help you out, whenever you need someone.’

Ken’s face lit up. For the first time since she’d started he looked genuinely pleased with her.

‘Good girl. I was hoping you’d have second thoughts. I have a job for you later on tonight, as it happens. I was going to ask one of the others, but if you’re up for it?’ He scanned her face. ‘An important punter is coming in later on. I like to make sure he gets taken care of properly, if you get my drift.’

Ken’s upper lip twisted at the corner, an expression somewhere between smile and snarl. ‘He’ll be in around one. I’ll bring him over and introduce him.’

She turned away. The ease of doing what she’d just done was disconcerting. Had she really agreed to go into a room alone with a customer? The thought was scary, almost preposterous.