Jennie Ensor - The Girl in His Eyes

‘It was an effort,’ she replied. ‘I wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone. I hardly knew most of them. And they all seemed so positive about him.’

Daniel shrugged, gave a small sigh. ‘Yeah, I know what you mean. You’d never think he’d topped himself.’ He looked into the garden. ‘Or he’d done all that other stuff.’

She noticed again the absence of his girlfriend. ‘Where’s Karen? I thought she would be here.’

‘She’s OK. She had something on today.’ His voice was guarded.

‘Have you told her what really happened with Dad?’

‘No, definitely not.’ He glanced behind as if Karen might suddenly appear. ‘She wouldn’t understand.’

‘Why don’t you try talking to her?’

‘What do you think I should say? “Hey, my dad was a child molester on the side, how about that? He abused my sister and then he went for the daughter of my mum’s friend, and, when he got found out, he decided to top himself”?’ He glared at her then closed his eyes for a moment.

‘I’m sorry, Laura, all this has shaken me up. Everything I thought I knew about him… I know he could be a real bastard at times. The way he ranted at Mum when she was just trying to make him happy, the way he used to come down on us like a ton of bricks for the slightest thing. He wasn’t that hot as a father, I always knew. But he was my dad. And now…’

He looked away from her, his eyes wet.

‘I loved him once too.’ She swallowed to remove the sudden tightness in her throat. ‘A long time ago. But the last time I saw him, I hated him more than I’ve ever hated anyone. Now, I feel nothing.’

Neither spoke. Her brother stared at the un-cleared table.

‘I’m thinking of breaking off the engagement,’ Daniel said, rubbing the back of his neck.

‘Because of Dad?’

His eyes flicked to her face. ‘If we get married, I’ll have to tell Karen the truth about him, won’t I? I don’t think I’m up to that.’

‘You don’t have to tell her, if you don’t want to. You should go ahead and get married. Don’t let him change anything.’

Daniel didn’t reply.

‘Have you said anything yet to Karen? About calling it off?’

‘Not yet. I haven’t told Mum, either.’

‘Wait a bit and think it over, won’t you?’

He shrugged and looked at his watch. ‘I’m heading off now, sis. I’ve got stuff to do.’

‘Daniel, before you go. Can I ask you something?’

He waited for her to speak.

‘Do you still blame me for Dad killing himself?’

‘No, I don’t blame you. I’m sorry I said that.’

‘I’m not sure he’d have done it,’ she explained, ‘if I hadn’t said what I did. If I hadn’t wanted to tell the police.’

‘It was his choice, Laura. After all that he did to you, he must have known he’d have to pay the price one day.’ He checked his watch again. ‘It’s getting late, I have to get back.’ He put his hand lightly on her arm. ‘See ya, sis. Take care of yourself.’

It was a warm afternoon, one of the last days of summer. The garden’s greenness was tinged with dusty yellows and golds. Marmaduke, lazing on the patio, rolled onto his back. Laura yawned and stretched. She was sleepy from the sun and the bottle of wine that she and her mother had shared at lunch.

Her mother, laid out on a reclining chair, raised her head. It was hidden by a large-brimmed straw hat. ‘How was Mrs Harris this week?’

‘Oh, she’s alright. She said I’ve been a massive help and she’s sorry for being so tetchy.’

It was the end of another week of helping Mrs Harris research her book. They’d travelled to Doncaster to talk to a farmer who’d discovered valuable Roman relics in the corner of his field. At last, she’d found a job she enjoyed. It was demanding, working for an irascible seventy-something woman who was greatly frustrated at her reduced sight and mobility, but never boring. The research was likely to go on for another six months, at least, and after that… She could help Mrs Harris write her book. Or she could apply to do a postgraduate degree in archaeology. After a few years she might end up on a dig in Crete or Italy. Perhaps she would discover something important herself.

‘The garden’s so lovely now,’ her mother said, under her breath. ‘I’m going to miss it.’

‘I can hardly believe you’ve sold the house, Mum.’

‘Nor me. It seems odd to think that I won’t be coming here when I get back.’

It was hard to imagine anyone else living in this house, but in just under four weeks it would be occupied by two doctors, and her mother would be off to Texas for a month, to stay with a friend she hadn’t seen for years, followed by two weeks in Spain with another friend, then an ‘old girls’ get-together’ in the Lake District. After all that, her mother was thinking of renting a house near the sea for a few months before buying somewhere else.

‘What sort of place are you going to look for?’

‘Somewhere bright, modern. Somewhere without memories.’

She knew what her mother meant. Dad had been dead for nearly half a year, yet the house still held many reminders of him. Several times, alone in the kitchen or the living room, she’d felt signs of him. A small disturbance in the air like someone walking close by. An odd quiver in the light, the faint spill of his voice into the room. It could well have been her imagination – she didn’t believe in ghosts – but she wouldn’t be sad to say goodbye to this place.

‘It’s time you got away from here,’ she said. ‘And away from the past.’

‘Yes, there’s been a bit too much of the past, lately.’

The inquest into her father’s death had been held three weeks ago. Both she and her mother had been summoned as witnesses. Not as many people as Mum had feared turned up. Daniel hadn’t gone, said he wasn’t interested in ‘a rehash of the past’.

‘You loved him, didn’t you, Mum?’

‘I loved the man I thought he was. Or the man he wanted me to see, perhaps. It’s as though he put me under a spell when I met him, and I never realised. Katherine always thought I was mad to put up with him, so did Irene. But I didn’t see it – just as I didn’t see what he did to you.’ Her mother rubbed the bridge of her nose. ‘It’s a strange thing, Laura. Lately, it’s like a weight’s been lifted from me. I was dreading the inquest and what might happen.’

Her mother had handled it quite well in the end, staying composed and clear and succinct in response to the coroner’s questions about what had led to Paul’s distressed state of mind. Jane had given a guarded account of Emma’s accusations, staring icily at Suzanne the whole time. She herself had decided to be as open as possible. She mentioned everything relevant – his abuse of her when she was a child, her reaction after learning of Jane’s accusation, her final confrontation with her father before her visit to the police. Oddly enough, talking about it had been OK. It was another chance to be heard, perhaps. Five hours later the verdict was death by misadventure , as they’d expected.

‘It’s not just that the inquest’s over.’ A sad smile fluttered onto her mother’s face. ‘Now Paul is gone, I can breathe again. It’s terrible that he felt he had no choice but to kill himself, and I’d never have wished him dead, but now it’s happened… Part of me wonders if this could all be for the best, in some strange way.’

She looked at her mother in surprise as she carried on.

‘You were right about him going after other girls. Even if he’d gone to prison, I don’t see how that would have stopped him. They’d have let him out sooner or later. We’d have always been wondering what he might do next.’