Jennie Ensor - The Girl in His Eyes

Laura said nothing. She too felt guilty. She’d guessed what her father might do but had done too little, too late. She’d hardly slept last night, thinking about what she should have done to stop her father from seeing Emma one more time. Then everything would have been different.

Her mother carried on. ‘I’ve got to face it though, haven’t I? Life doesn’t always deal you the cards you’re hoping for.’

‘What Dad did to Emma, I think it’s my fault.’

‘How could it be your fault?’

‘I guessed he might do something, that he might go after her. I should have done something to stop him. I should have waited for Jane and told her myself that Emma was in danger—’

‘You couldn’t read his mind, could you? You weren’t there to see what he was up to. He manipulated us both, Laura. He made us see what we wanted to see.’

The words were meant well, but she knew she hadn’t done the right thing. Why hadn’t she tried harder to protect Emma, rather than her mother? Why hadn’t she waited a little longer for Jane to get home, to tell her everything?

‘Is someone going to tell the police what he did?’ She heard her words come out sharper than she’d meant them to. This too had been preying on her mind.

Her mother didn’t reply.

‘Don’t you think they should know?’

‘I don’t know, Laura.’ Her mother’s voice became a small tremble. ‘Maybe Jane will tell them.’

‘I hope so. How long will you be at Katherine’s? Are you going to go back to Dad?’

‘I don’t know, I can’t decide anything just yet.’ Her mother’s tone changed. ‘Do you think Marmaduke will be alright on his own with your dad? He’s only got four tins of Whiskas left. Your father might forget to feed him.’

‘I’m sure he’ll be OK, Mum.’ She couldn’t help a trace of annoyance entering her voice. Her mother seemed more concerned with the cat’s well-being than trying to deal with this situation.

After their conversation, Laura carried on washing up. Her mother’s voice lingered in her head. Mum hadn’t sounded herself at all, more like someone having a breakdown. If she had the strength, she might leave Dad. But most likely she wouldn’t. After a few weeks she would convince herself that he was going to change, and he’d never do any of those things again, and she’d give him one more chance. And if he had one more chance, what would happen? If no one reported him to the police, he would be free to go after other girls. Once again, she found herself imagining her father with Emma. Fucking a girl of twelve – how had he managed it? Had Emma struggled, or had she been too shocked and too scared to resist? Had he sweet-talked her into giving way, sapping her resistance bit by bit?

It was too horrible to think about. The poor girl, she would have to carry this around with her for the rest of her life. Of course, Emma would probably try to forget it had ever happened. It wouldn’t work; the knowledge would make itself felt. Perhaps she would find it harder to trust people, and easier to think bad things about herself. The bad things men did wouldn’t surprise her. In one way or another, Emma’s life would be changed because of what Dad had done.

Laura picked up the scouring pad to attack the grimy layer at the bottom of a saucepan. That awful feeling was back. Guilt struck at her core. There was no doubt; she should have stopped her father from going after Emma. He had lied to her about his intentions – all that guff about how he would never think of harming Emma. Why, oh why had she believed him? It was obvious, looking back, that her father would have tried to find a way to see Emma again. If only she hadn’t been so concerned about protecting her mother. Mum had found out the truth anyway, in the end.

It was done now; there was nothing she could do to change the past. But she did have the power to change the future. Whatever else happened, her father couldn’t be allowed to get away with what he’d done to Emma.

Only it looked like he was going to get away with it.

She kept scrubbing, not noticing what she was doing she was so deep in thought.

If Emma hadn’t told anyone at the time, and if she didn’t want to talk to the police, there would be no evidence against him. Her father wouldn’t be charged or prosecuted and he’d be free to carry on as before, wouldn’t he? How soon would it be before he found his next victim?

Laura put down the saucepan and slowly dried her hands on a towel.

What if she told the police what he’d done to her when she was a child?

Her mind raced. The things he’d done to her in secret were crimes – indecently touching an underage girl, forcing her into a sexual act – they were serious crimes, surely, especially if that girl was his daughter.

But, if she reported it now, ten years on, would the police take any notice? There was no evidence, no witness. She hadn’t kept a diary and she hadn’t told anyone about those things, not until years later. Her father would simply deny it all.

Her heart began to speed up. A strange surge of excitement, almost exhilaration, went through her, along with an undercurrent of trepidation.

Perhaps if she went to the police about what her father had done to her, it might convince Emma to go to the police too. Then they’d have to listen. Jane might change her mind about Emma giving evidence if it was by video link. If her father was found guilty of having sex with a child he’d be put away, surely. He’d be unable to harm any more girls for a good while. He’d be monitored afterwards, put on the sex offenders register. Even if he got off, or it didn’t get to court, at least the police would be alerted to her father and his predilections. Most of all, he would be forced to face himself and the things he’d done.

It was scary, the thought of giving up her own father to the police, but she had to stop him from hurting anyone else. He couldn’t be allowed to get away with what he’d done.

She stared at the blurred lime-green shape that had appeared in front of her, and realised it was a mug.

‘Here you are, m’dear. This’ll pep you up.’ Katherine smiled at her with coral lips, pleased about something. ‘That was David on the phone.’

‘David?’

‘He said he might drop by later. He’s staying in Chelsea for a conference. He’s got some cuttings for us.’

She nodded, not getting what her friend meant. It was as if she’d been marooned for months on a remote island. Katherine was miles away. Her words floated by, one by one, out of reach.

Katherine sat in the armchair opposite. Two converging creases appeared above her eyebrows.

‘You’re in a bad way, aren’t you, love? You’ve hardly said a word since you got here.’

Suzanne took a sip of tea. It tasted quite unlike tea. She put down the mug.

‘I don’t know what to do,’ she said.

‘Give yourself time for things to settle. You can stay here for as long as you want to, you know that.’

‘Aren’t you supposed to be at work today? It’s Friday, isn’t it?’

‘I’m working Monday and Tuesday next week to make up. It’s alright, Suzy, I don’t mind. I can’t leave you alone while you’re like this.’

She looked down at her hands lying limply in her lap. The thought that had filled her head for the past few days was back.

‘How could he have done those things? Every time I think of him… I can’t bear to think about it.’

‘It’s hard. You’ve just got to hang on in there, love.’

Katherine disappeared. Her attention was drawn back to the sculpture that was staring at her from the mantelpiece: a warrior with a spear in his outstretched arm, and a frightful expression on his face. Suzanne looked away. Wherever her gaze landed, exotic objects plucked from Katherine and Jeremy’s travels popped disconcertingly into view. It hadn’t bothered her before, but today… The room’s maroon walls were oppressive, more suited to an opium den than a living room. She tried to concentrate on a beam of pure white light, imagine it washing over her, lifting the dreadful images from her mind.