Would They Miss Me

by Anne Lown

“What about?”

  She fiddled with the cuff of her sleeve, trying to find the confidence to say what she’d come to reveal. Annalise licked her lips and cleared her throat. “I need to tell someone something. It’s personal. It’s important.”

  Mrs Selby waited. She didn’t appear willing to meet her halfway. There was no coddling, no inviting her to sit down and tell her all about it. Annalise was beginning to wonder if she was making a mistake. Maybe she had the wrong person. Maybe she should wait to talk to someone else. But who could that be? She’d already decided she’d leave the village after dark. There was no more time.

  “It’s about someone who’s doing bad things...to me.”

  Mrs Selby straightened her stance. She’d been leaning over the desk, still fussing with a pile of paperwork. She flitted her gaze over Annalise’s shoulder, out into the corridor. “I think you’d better shut the door.”

  Annalise turned and did as she’d been told. She closed the door behind her so anyone entering from the main hall was not privy to their conversation. She took this to be a good sign, that someone would take her seriously and listen.

  “Now, what’s this all about?” Mrs Selby asked.

  Annalise tried to swallow, her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth. “I need someone to know. There’s a man in our village who’s been doing things to me. I beg him to stop or I’d say something, but he says no one would believe me.”

  Mrs Selby glared at her. It was a look of contempt, her mouth pinched like the woman had smelled a rotten fish left in the sweltering heat of a trapped room. Annalise recoiled, not sure if she should go on. But what could she do? It was her last chance. If she didn’t say something now there’d be no other opportunity.

  “I need to tell someone,” Annalise said. “I need him to stop.”

  Mrs Selby burst with anger. “What’s wrong with you, girl? Don’t you know the Devil makes work for liars and idle tongues? How can you stand there and besmirch the good name of a man who works tirelessly for the good of all?”

  Annalise flinched. “But I haven’t told you who it is.”

  “I don’t need to know because you are a liar.”

  The fury with which Mrs Selby spoke shook Annalise. One thing she knew for certain was she wasn’t a liar and never had been. So many things had been said about her in the village, and most were untrue. It was a wonder she could breathe at all under the pressure of so much misunderstanding and incrimination. Her hands flinched to her chest of their own accord, and she grabbed hold of her blouse for security. She couldn’t have been any more shocked if the woman had slapped her. Tears stung, but she fought them back. She’d made a mistake; there was no one here to listen after all.

  Annalise didn’t wait to say goodbye. Her ability to fight back had been quashed growing up in a house where she’d not been allowed to have emotions. Cuddles from her mother were nonexistent, and without her father around, she didn’t know if life could’ve been different.

  I’ll get my rucksack and just go.

  She cracked open the door to the main hall, observing the women through the gap still over the far side of the room. None of them looked her way. Annalise snuck back across the stage and into the kitchen, the door clicking closed behind her. A few tears escaped, and she pressed her lips together to stop herself sobbing, not wanting anyone to hear her cry. She wiped her face with her sleeve and glanced at the fire exit that led to the bins. The area outside was open to woodland. It was somewhere she could sit and pull herself together.

  The book she’d found nagged at her. It wasn’t hers to take, but she couldn’t leave it there for someone else to find. Whoever it belonged to would be angry, and it served them right to worry about who’d got hold of it. She reached under the curtain and dragged it out, lifting the back of her jacket to conceal it. The scrape of the cover grazed her skin; it was a snug fit where the waistband of her jeans touched her back. She felt clammy in seconds, but there was no choice, it contained evidence she might need.

  The outside door was missing its key. Annalise stretched to reach the top of the doorframe, but she was too short. She knew it was up there, having seen its shiny metal glint in the electric light. A tea towel lay on the draining board. She flicked it at the lintel, and it slapped the wood when it hit. The noise was louder than she’d wanted. She glanced back at the other door to the hall, making sure it was still closed.

  Noises from the main hall seeped through; the workers were coming for their refreshments. Annalise gave the tea towel a couple more flicks, and on the third try the key fell to the floor. She bent down to pick it up. She thrust the key at the lock, and it bounced back with each jab until she took a deep breath and slowed her movements. Taking care, she pushed the key home and turned it. The lock clicked and released. She slid back the bolts at the top and bottom then swung the door open, just in time to see the handle on the opposite door move.

  Annalise ran down three steps and out into the open. The small patch of ground containing the bins circled around the side of the building. Her feet crunched across the loose gravel, and she skipped over nettles into the trees beyond. Looking back, she could see Mrs Murray leaning out of the open doorway, scanning the surroundings. Annalise couldn’t have been seen because Mrs Murray went back inside and shut the door behind her. It was a near miss—seconds later, and she would’ve been caught in the kitchen. She stood and leant her hands on her knees, giving herself a chance to catch her breath.

  That’s it then, I might as well grab my rucksack and go.

  Chapter Three

  Annalise crossed the road to the duck pond. It, too, was surrounded by trees and bushes, a secluded spot just right for what she needed. There’d be less chance of being caught by Mrs Murray farther away from the village hall. Annalise sat at the base of a thick-trunked tree and leant back. The rough, cracked ridges of the bark snagged at her clothing. She twisted her arm behind her so she could reach under her jacket. The book was sweaty on one side from close contact with her skin. It tugged when she pulled it out from the back of her jeans. She wiped the cover on her trouser leg and opened it.

  The inside pages listed dates of when events had taken place. It seemed bizarre anyone wanted to record such things, but there were dangerous people in Chapel End. She closed her eyes to steady her nerve and breathed out through pursed lips. Reading the details was going to be tough, but she had to be sure of what was there before she did anything with it. If anyone was going to take it seriously then there needed to be clear evidence written in the book.

  Annalise looked down and scanned a page. There were details of times, places, and the people involved in the abuse. Even the young person attacked was mentioned. She searched to see if there were any familiar names, but there weren’t—only at the back, the ones she’d seen earlier. It was only her from the village from what she could tell. The one vulnerable teenager nobody cared about. Tears again stung her eyes, and this time she didn’t try to stop them. Reading what had been done to her on the last few occasions brought back the horrors she’d lived through.

  The nice weather over the last few months meant she’d been taken to a field. No one else had been around other than the two men escorting her there. All she’d done was accept a drink. Something so simple; she was thirsty, and they’d had one spare.

  The two men weren’t much older than her. She’d known them from school and had been friendly for quite some time. Shortly after drinking, her legs had wobbled. She’d tried to walk but had found it hard to direct her feet in a straight line, and they’d crisscrossed each other with every step she’d taken. They’d held her up, though, and the three of them had gone for a stroll.

  At one point they’d all sat on a bench, the wooden slats pressing into her back and tugging her t-shirt as she’d slumped to the side. Annalise had closed her eyes—there had been nothing she could do to keep them open. Their conversation had swirled around her, the actual words lost on their passage through her mind.

  The ne
xt thing she knew, she’d been lying down in a field, the tall reedy grass turning golden brown with the heat. The area where she’d lain had already been flattened, but Annalise’s capability was not in a place to ask why. What had happened there before she’d arrived?

  She’d opened her eyes. The blue sky had been darkening. Time had moved on, but she hadn’t known by how much. Her eyelids had fluttered. One of the men had leaned over her, their face blocking out the view.

  “Don’t go to sleep,” he’d said.

  It was the last thing she’d remembered, until morning, that was.

  She’d awoken alone in her own bed, the knowledge that something was wrong already creeping up on her. Her mother had been downstairs and busy in the kitchen. She’d heard her slamming cupboards, each bang louder than the one before.

  Annalise had forced her aching body from her bed. She’d wrapped her arms around her torso, the act of doing so alerting her to the nightdress she was wearing. There had been no memory of getting changed. She’d tiptoed down the stairs and into the hallway. The kitchen door was pushed back against the wall, so she’d stood in the gap.

  Her mother had ignored her being there, turning her face away so as not to look at her. Annalise had watched her putting away crockery that had dried on the draining board overnight. Each item the woman had picked up was gripped so tight the skin on the back of her hand stretched, displaying the whites of her knuckles. A cup she’d held smacked onto the shelf, swirling in place until it had come to a stop. She’d done nothing to prevent it from rolling out and onto the floor. When all had been put away, she’d turned towards the window and made no other move. Their relationship had never recovered.

  Annalise had trudged up the stairs and into the bathroom. She’d glanced at the floor under the sink—the clothes she’d been wearing the day before were soaking in a bucket of water. They were covered in sick. The sweet rancid smell had assaulted her senses. She’d gagged, bile escaping into her throat. She’d spat it out in the sink and washed the spittle away. The clothing should’ve been thrown out. Her t-shirt floating on top had holes in it across the front. It was ruined.

  Was this punishment?

  She’d drained the water and lifted each piece out, putting them into a bag left beside the bucket, and took them to the bin outside.

  Back in the present, Annalise stared at the page, barely seeing it through the tears. What she hadn’t remembered, she now knew. Tears cascaded. Was this what it meant to be eighteen? Damaged goods no one wanted? Her life destroyed before it’d even got started?

  She dropped the book onto her lap. The evidence was there. She could send it to someone and know something could be done to stop the abuse. To give people like her back their lives and no one else be destroyed. She wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand, the slight bit of makeup she’d applied earlier smudging in the process.

  She flinched when a sound caught her attention. Annalise listened hard, trying to work out where it’d come from. She scanned the trees for signs of life. Then it happened again, and she knew someone was there. She stood, picking up the book and sliding it out of view behind her back. Martin walked towards her. He was the same age, even went to the same school, but she’d never had much to do with him. She didn’t hang around in his crowd; in fact, she didn’t hang around much with anyone, unless it was Jason.

  “Why are you hiding here? Waiting for me?” The leer on Martin’s face deepened.

  He was closing on her fast, and his hands were not in a position she wanted to see. Annalise averted her gaze. She’d seen enough of him rubbing himself in the past. Each time she’d wanted to vomit, and this time was no different.

  “Can’t you leave me alone? I’m not bothering anyone.”

  He stopped a couple of paces away and looked behind him. Annalise strained to hear—was someone coming? It didn’t seem they were because he turned around and continued towards her. She stepped back, her shoulder knocking on the tree. It jolted her arm, releasing her grip on the book. The pages bent open where it landed in the undergrowth. Stunned for a moment, she didn’t know what to do. Glancing up at Martin, she could tell he’d seen it. His mouth was open, surprise showing on his face. Did that mean he knew what it was?

  “Give that to me.”

  Annalise dipped to grab it before he got to her. She was just standing up when his hand grabbed hold of her throat. He pinned her to the tree, the bark scratching the back of her head and snagging her long brown hair. She tried to breathe, but he held on too tight.

  She squinted through the pain. He was clearly enjoying himself, having power over a smaller human being. She held the book at arm’s length, trying to evade his capture. If he got hold of the book she wouldn’t have anything to send to the police, then nothing would change.

  His free hand inched along her arm towards the book, scratching at the wounds on her forearm. As it got nearer, he turned to watch what he was doing. Annalise took advantage of his momentary lapse in concentration, her one and only chance to free herself. She hoped his feet were on either side of her own, allowing the gap she needed. In one swift motion, she propelled her right knee upwards. He had her pinned to the tree so that her feet were not quite on the ground, giving her added height. Her knee connected with his left thigh and drove higher into his groin.

  Martin’s face contorted, his pupils disappeared under his eyelids, and he let out a groan. His hand slackened on her neck even though he hadn’t let go. She yanked her body to her left and broke free from his grip in time to see him crumple to the ground. If he’d still had hold of her he would’ve taken her down with him.

  Not wasting a moment, Annalise darted between the trees and headed for home. Pain seared through her side, the muscles reacting to the sudden need for swift movement. With her face flushed, she ran past people staring in the street, not wanting to stop until she got home.

  The house seemed empty from outside. Annalise opened the front door and stepped inside. She listened for any sounds before closing it behind her. She didn’t want to be there if Frank was about. The coast seemed clear.

  She mounted the stairs two at a time, eager to get to her bedroom. At the top she could see her door was ajar—someone had been in there. She approached the room with tentative steps, not wanting to be heard if it was an ambush. It’d happened before. She’d come home from school and found Frank sitting on her bed. He hadn’t said why he’d been in her room, but he’d had a piece of her clothing in his hand. He’d been sniffing it until he’d noticed her watching. Without a word, he’d got up and walked out. Nothing had been said about it since.

  Annalise glanced around her bedroom. The only thing not how she’d left it was her rucksack. She picked it up and emptied it onto the bed. The things she’d placed in there fell out in a different order to how she’d put them in. Maybe her mother had searched it after all when she’d been looking for the missing money.

  Annalise snorted. Why her mother couldn’t see Frank was the culprit, she couldn’t understand. When it came to him the woman was blind. Annalise shook her head. The sooner she got away from them the better. There were places she could go. A friend she’d made on day release at the college in Bishop had told her she could stay with her if things got too bad. Now she’d turned eighteen, there was no way her mother could get her to come home. She could disappear for good, and that was what she intended to do.

  Chapter Four

  Annalise finished packing her rucksack and slid it under her bed. It could be seen if someone bothered to search, but it didn’t appear filled out. Her mother couldn’t know she was going anywhere or she’d try to stop her. Now Annalise had to wait. Soon enough, the hour would come, and she’d be gone. They wouldn’t miss her until the afternoon at the earliest and maybe not even then. Leaving early would only make them suspicious.

  She sat on her bed and surveyed the room. There was time to kill and not a lot to do. Annalise picked up her diary and opened it at that day’s page. She closed her eyes to thi
nk. It would be the last time she’d write in it. She didn’t want to take the habit to her new life—that had to be a fresh start and different to how she’d lived in Chapel End.

  Images of Jason stirred in her mind. She hadn’t told him her plans, or he’d try to stop her. She remembered the first day they’d met. He’d been standing at the front of her class, his brooding expression challenging anyone who’d dared to glance his way. The tail of his shirt had hung out haphazardly from the bottom of his school jumper, matched by his open collar and tie in disarray.

  Annalise had taken the hint and stared out of the window. She’d already been hiding at the back of the class hoping not to be noticed by the gang of girls who’d made her breaktimes a misery. Her unwashed hair had fallen in front of her face, the strands clumping together where the grease inched its way along the shafts. Each time she used the bathroom, Frank would open the door, her mother refusing to mend the lock after he’d burst through in a drunken rage. She’d yet to gain some alone time. Maybe tonight he’d be out, and she could use the bath.

  She’d flinched when Jason had sat beside her, not by choice, but because all the other seats had been taken. Annalise had turned away even more, not wanting to look at the new boy. She’d felt something nudge her side, digging between her ribs.

  “Oi, that hurt.”

  “You’re supposed to show me around,” he’d said, his sulky tone making him hard to understand.

  Annalise had sighed. It had seemed no one else had wanted to do it, and she’d been picked because she was the least likely to make a fuss. She went back to staring out of the window—her day had just got worse.

  Her feelings towards him had changed. As the week had gone on, they’d found they lived in the same village, the bus ride home giving it away. He was staying with his uncle, his mother sick in hospital and unable to care for them both. He’d become the friend she’d needed, sneaking her into his uncle’s house when he’d been out, allowing her to wash in peace. Maybe that was why her mother hadn’t liked him—he’d solved a problem she wasn’t willing to face.