Reckless

by Gemma Rogers

  I sat at the table and marked some homework. I was almost done when, an hour later, Charlotte came into the kitchen.

  ‘Nicky’s going now,’ she said, her cheeks a rosy red. I didn’t have to ask to know what they’d been doing upstairs.

  David was snoring on the sofa and I didn’t want to disturb him, so I got up and went into the hallway, where Nicky was slipping his chunky desert boots on. I had a vague memory of seeing them discarded on the floor of his bedroom that night I’d stayed over. I wrung my hands awkwardly.

  ‘Thanks so much for lunch, Mrs Cole.’

  I smiled tightly. Charlotte was holding his hand and looked like she didn’t want to let go.

  ‘Oh, I’ve left my hoody in your room. Could you grab it for me, babe?’ Nicky asked, his voice sickly-sweet.

  Charlotte nodded, bounding up the stairs like an obedient puppy. I had to refrain from tutting.

  Nicky took a step towards me and leaned in close to whisper in my ear. My hair fluttered as he spoke.

  ‘She tastes like you.’

  I gasped, my hand flying to my mouth. Hot tears pricked my eyes and I had to turn away from fear I would launch at him. My entire body shook, and I faltered, holding on to the staircase for support, but then I heard Charlotte’s footfall on the stairs. I began to cough, it was all I could think of to mask my angry red face and streaming tears.

  ‘You OK, Mum?’ Charlotte said.

  ‘Fine, just a tickle,’ I managed, my hand in front of my mouth, hiding as much of my face as possible. ‘Bye.’ I waved my free hand above my head and turned back towards the kitchen. Carrying on coughing until I reached the utility room, where, after closing the door, I sank to my knees and sobbed. What had I done, exposing my daughter to this monster? Why was he punishing me?

  When my chest had heaved enough, and I was exhausted, I got to my feet and opened the door cautiously. The only sound came from David’s snoring. Charlotte must be back in her room already. I snuck outside for a smoke in the garden, moving towards the back fence so I could check Charlotte’s window wasn’t open. Lighting up, I called Stella.

  ‘What the fuck?’ Stella spat when I told her what had happened.

  ‘I know. Oh god, what am I going to do? He’s got my daughter hooked on him and I don’t know what he’s capable of.’

  ‘You need to go and see him, make him understand what he’s doing to you. Say you’re sorry if that’s what he wants to hear.’

  ‘I will. I’ll go to his house. I can’t tonight, I’ve had too much wine already to drive. I’ll go tomorrow after school.’ Perhaps Stella was right, if I could make him see sense, perhaps he would stop this charade and leave us alone. I didn’t believe he was with Charlotte for any other reason than to get to me.

  Stella made me promise to keep in touch and once my face had returned to normal, the blotchy tear stains gone, I went to see Charlotte.

  ‘Come in,’ she called as I tapped gently on the door. She was sitting on her bed, reading her Geography textbook.

  ‘Homework?’ I asked.

  ‘Always,’ Charlotte groaned. ‘Do you like him now?’ she asked, eyes like saucers.

  ‘I still think he’s too old for you,’ I said, trying to be as diplomatic as I could.

  ‘Dad said if we had him round for dinner, you’d start to like him more,’ Charlotte admitted. Now I understood why the dinner had happened, arranged behind my back. I couldn’t blame David; he didn’t know his daughter’s boyfriend was a psycho.

  ‘I don’t dislike him,’ I said, trying desperately not to lie to my daughter. If the truth be told, I hated him, but that wasn’t going to help the situation.

  ‘Don’t let him push you into anything, Charlotte, OK? Make sure you’re safe,’ I said, cringing inwardly.

  She wrinkled her nose. ‘Mum! Grim. And, no, he’s not pushing me into anything,’ Charlotte said in a hurry, as though she couldn’t get the words out fast enough.

  The following day at school, I arrived to find a gift bag on my desk. Knowing it could only be from Nicky, I threw it in the bin.

  But what if it was something important? A gift for Charlotte or a message? Pulling it out, I opened the bag, slicing the tape that held the sides together. Inside, I saw black fabric and knew instantly what they were. Nicky had returned my underwear. Closing my classroom door, I pulled them out of the bag and found they’d been shredded. The gusset ripped apart, chopped like a child’s paper snowflake with pieces missing. My chest tightened and, all of a sudden, I couldn’t breathe. I gasped for breath, knowing a panic attack was coming, but I couldn’t control it. Putting my head between my knees, eyes streaming, I counted over and over until my lungs opened up.

  I avoided the playground and the afternoon assembly, feigning a headache. I couldn’t bear to look at Nicky. I didn’t want to be in the same room with him, but I knew I had to. I needed to go to his house to speak to him, away from the school grounds.

  At the end of the day, Charlotte came to my classroom to ask if Nicky could take her to the library and drop her home before dinner. My talk with Nicky would have to wait.

  Remembering my swimming kit was still in the boot of my car, I went for a swim to clear my head. I no longer counted lengths but glided up and down the pool in the cool water, working out what I was going to say to Nicky. Forty minutes later, I felt calmer, and my tightly coiled muscles relaxed after a hot shower.

  I got home before David and prepared dinner, chilli con carne. A nice easy dish which was one of my favourites in winter. Christmas songs plagued the radio and adverts were on the television non-stop. I’d done nothing so far, burying my head in the sand that the festive season was fast approaching. I couldn’t focus on anything but fixing my problem with Nicky.

  I texted Stella to tell her I hadn’t been able to speak to Nicky, so had nothing to report and was dishing up when David returned from work. He looked tired, saying he’d had a busy day on the new project and was looking forward to flopping on the sofa after dinner. Charlotte had been brought home from the library as promised and with books, so I knew she’d been.

  Later, once dinner had been cleared, I took the opportunity to charge the Motorola, hiding the phone behind the fruit bowl out of sight while it was plugged in. I didn’t want to contact Nicky unless I had to, but if he sent a message, I didn’t want to miss it.

  It was around seven and dark outside when the text came through. The Motorola was on silent, but I heard a humming sound from the corner of the kitchen and immediately knew what it was.

  Retrieving the phone, I clicked open the message from Nicky but had to wait, it was a picture message and the phone was old. The screen started to download the image from the top, practically line by line like the old dot-matrix printers. My eyebrows shot up and my jaw hit the floor when I realised what he’d sent.

  I stared at a photo of Charlotte, a selfie. A topless selfie of her lying in bed, the phone held from above, exposing part of her breasts with only a sheet covering the rest of her body. In the photo, she was biting her finger. It was provocative, but through my tears all I could see was my baby girl.

  43

  I unplugged the Motorola and threw it into my handbag, flying out of the door in seconds. Anger bubbled like blisters on my skin. I wanted to tear at Nicky until he bled. I drove like I had a death wish, taking corners too fast, way above the speed limit for our sleepy village, arriving at his house in little more than five minutes, screeching to a halt outside. I hammered on the front door with my fist, not bothering to ring the doorbell. I didn’t care who heard or saw now, this had gone beyond keeping secrets or shielding reputations.

  I waited, but there was no response. Again, I beat the door with my fist and pressed the doorbell for an extended period. Eventually the door opened, and a dishevelled Pat stood in front of me in her dressing gown.

  ‘Where is he?’ I snarled, pushing past Pat into the hallway and shouting Nicky’s name up the stairs.

  ‘What the hell do you think you�
��re doing?’ Pat screeched, still groggy from sleep.

  ‘Where is your son?’ I shouted, enunciating each word. Unstoppable tears came, the adrenaline pumping around my body had peaked, and anger and frustration leaked from my eyes.

  ‘What’s happened?’ Pat stood with her hands on her hips.

  ‘He’s going out with my daughter now, did you know? He’s sent me photos of her – naked ones!’ The words spilled out in a rush. I sounded hysterical.

  ‘I warned you,’ Pat sighed.

  I shot her an incredulous glare, but she shook her head.

  ‘I told you to be careful, I warned you he wasn’t to be trusted. Now get out,’ Pat said, pulling me by the arm to thrust me back out of the door. ‘He’s just like his father that boy, takes everything, contributes fuck all. His dad was an arse; abused me, not only on the outside, but up here too,’ she pointed to her temple before continuing. ‘I used to think I was going mad. Everyone thought he was a saint, but no one saw what went on here once the door was closed.’

  ‘I need to find him,’ I pleaded as I stumbled onto the doorstep, but Pat was already closing the door on me. I pushed back on it hard to stop it from shutting. ‘Did you make a complaint against me at the school?’ I asked, but Pat let out a spiteful cackle, all the while shaking her head.

  ‘You know what the only difference is between him and his father? He’s smarter,’ Pat said bitterly before closing the door in my face.

  I waited by my car for a while, chain-smoking to calm my nerves, hoping Nicky would come home. I rang his phone repeatedly, but each time it went to voicemail. I sent a text asking where he was but got no response. I threw away my third butt and got in the car. As I was about to drive away the Motorola beeped.

  Like mother like daughter

  I stared at it, the letters blurring together. He was terrorising us, perhaps I should go to the police. I was backed into a corner now. I’d have to come clean about all of it to stop Nicky. I’d lose my job, my husband and possibly my daughter too, but I had to protect Charlotte at any cost.

  Why had she sent him that photo? It was rule number one; I knew I’d talked to Charlotte about it in the past. We’d listened to radio campaigns on the way to school about never sending photos. What should I do? Confiscate Charlotte’s phone? How would I do that without admitting I’d seen the photo?

  My mind was whirling, and I felt utterly lost. I drove home slowly. When I got in, David was still watching television in the front room.

  ‘Where did you rush off to?’

  I hadn’t prepared a response, my mind too busy elsewhere.

  ‘Oh, I had to go over and see Matilda quickly, she was upset.’

  ‘What happened?’ David asked, but I interjected.

  ‘What if we moved away? Started again somewhere new?’ I continued, but David’s face said it all.

  ‘What’s going on, Izzy? We moved here to “get away”. What’s wrong with here?’ He scowled, his face a mask of annoyance. I immediately regretted mentioning it.

  ‘Nothing, it’s fine,’ I said, which infuriated him more.

  ‘Why are you shutting me out? I thought after we talked, everything was out in the open. Now it seems you don’t want to tell me what’s going on. You have to start trusting me again.’

  ‘Not everything is about you,’ I hissed.

  ‘Then tell me what’s wrong? You’ve been weird for ages.’

  I contemplated blurting it out, but he was already angry, and I knew he’d hit the roof.

  I sank on to the sofa and stared glassy-eyed at the television. David, realising he wasn’t getting anything out of me, sighed and stalked out of the room. Pat’s voice needled in the back of my mind. ‘He’s just like his father’. If Nicky was his father’s son, had he hit his mother too? Is that what Pat meant? Was he violent?

  My head spun and it was only after a large glass of wine I felt able to go to bed. David was already there and a hostile silence in the bedroom led me to believe he wasn’t asleep yet. I climbed into bed beside him and pulled the duvet to my neck. My life was unravelling, and I was powerless to stop it.

  On Tuesday morning, I had the comfort of teaching the year sevens story writing, which was my favourite lesson. At that age, they were still eager, and their imaginations weren’t stifled by whether their ideas were cool or not. It enabled me to take my mind off Nicky and enjoy teaching.

  I’d set myself a task, something I’d decided on last night whilst staring at the ceiling and willing sleep to come. At lunchtime I was first in the staffroom, waiting for Matilda and Susan to arrive so we could eat together. The gossip of the day was that slanderous graffiti had been found on the boys’ toilet walls, shaming all the teachers. There were various nicknames for us all and some of the teachers had taken offence, but luckily both Matilda and Susan found it hilarious. Susan was called Mrs Witch, which they all decided was rather unimaginative. Matilda was Roly-Poly and I was Mrs Horny.

  ‘My husband wished I was Mrs Horny,’ I laughed nervously. I didn’t have to guess where that had been dreamed up.

  ‘Crikey, they are an imaginative bunch, aren’t they? What are you teaching them in English?’ Matilda said.

  ‘Obviously not enough,’ I retorted.

  ‘Steven’s gone mad, he’s having it painted this afternoon,’ Susan said.

  ‘Oh well, it’ll soon be yesterday’s news,’ Matilda said.

  ‘The last time he had it painted was when Miss Willis was here,’ Susan continued.

  Perfect, if I’d got it right, I hadn’t even had to steer them.

  ‘Was that the English teacher?’ I enquired.

  ‘Yes. Christ, you should have seen the walls then,’ Matilda said.

  I finished my sandwich and made an excuse that I had to get back to my classroom to print out some sheets for the next lesson.

  The sound of the children outside carried through the closed windows, but inside the school was quiet. I checked both phones, but there were no texts or calls. Picking up my smartphone, I typed Miss Willis, St. Wilfred’s School into Google. There were a few hits, but none were right. I added the town as well and an article from the local paper loaded. It didn’t have much detail but mentioned a teacher had been suspended from the school due to an alleged harassment complaint.

  As I scrolled, I realised how lucky I’d been, considering it could have been my name in the paper and potentially my teaching career out of the window. Nothing had been reported in the local press to my knowledge about my absence from work or about the investigation undertaken by St. Wilfred’s. Most likely because no evidence had been discovered and no allegation proven. I really had dodged a bullet. It could be my reputation smeared on that screen.

  I needed to find Miss Willis, the article didn’t provide much information that would help in my search, but it did supply her first name – Hayley. I googled Hayley Willis and various links to Facebook and LinkedIn popped up; it appeared to be a common name. Again, I entered the town to filter the list but got nothing from social media this time. Instead there was a listing from a website called Vital Skills, which looked to be a company which helped young people from the ages of sixteen to twenty-four transition from higher education into work. Clicking on the link took me through to the Personnel page, where there was a list of five employees in their various roles and Hayley was halfway down the list. I clicked on her name and it opened a profile page, with a large head and shoulder shot. She was pretty and looked of a similar colouring to me. She had long auburn hair and dark brown coffee-coloured eyes which were looking into the distance wistfully.

  Nicky clearly had a type. Hayley was listed as a youth worker, and the contact address was in Rudgwick, heading back towards Surrey. I’d driven through it a few times when we were house-hunting. There was a telephone number too, but I thought it better to approach Hayley in person.

  After school, I checked Charlotte didn’t need a lift home from netball, but as I suspected, she was going back to Nicky’s. To do home
work, apparently. I bit my tongue, knowing the amount of homework that would be going on would be minimal. Instead of letting my feelings show, or tearing her mobile phone from her hand, I gave Charlotte a kiss and wrapped her into a hug. She squirmed awkwardly until I released her.

  ‘Home for six please, and be good,’ I said as I got into my car. I could see Nicky at the other side of the car park waiting, but I refused to look at him. I couldn’t trust myself if we crossed paths. Fortunately, he’d had the sense to stay away since sending the photo of Charlotte, but he knew he had me exactly where he wanted me. I planned to change that.

  44

  The traffic to get out of the village was bad but expected during the school run. I used the time to think about what I was going to say to Hayley. She’d obviously moved town and changed job to get away. There was no presence of her on social media. Hayley must have fled the rumours and gone into hiding of sorts, deleting her Facebook and Twitter accounts to stay anonymous. I was sure she wouldn’t appreciate a stranger dragging up the past.

  I got lost trying to find the office of Vital Skills and had to pull over to key the postcode into the satnav. When I arrived ten minutes later, it wasn’t an office I sat outside of, more a row of shops. The buildings were white with dark oak beams and quaint front doors. Looming windows showcased products on display, although the office Hayley worked in had frosted glass so you couldn’t see the employees at their desks, only shapes moving inside. The whole street had a chocolate-box-village feel.

  It was four o’clock and I got comfortable in my seat, sipping on a bottle of water I retrieved from my bag. I assumed Hayley would work until about five and I would catch her as she left the office, sure I would recognise her from her photo on the website.