by AA Abbott
“I’m not academic, but I’m working hard over the half-term to keep up.”
“What’s your favourite subject?” Laura asks.
“Art.”
“Oh, really? What do you do in art lessons?”
“Lots of different things. Painting, mixed media, pottery – even a video. I like drawing and painting best, though.” I uncurl my legs and arms.
“Tell me about your paintings. The ones you’re most proud of.”
“There was a rose, a single pink one with a drop of water on it. It won a prize at school.” Miss Broadstone singled it out for praise on Speech Day. She said the rose appeared to be crying and it was exquisite.
“That must have made you very proud. And your mum and stepdad.”
“Yes, we all were.” Remembering the golden glow of the day, I almost smile.
“How do you get on with your mum?”
“All right.” I peek shyly at Mum. Her face is strained.
“Mum brings me biscuits to help me do my homework better,” I explain.
“What kind of things do you and your mum do together?”
“Shopping. Sometimes, we cook, but Mum mostly does that since we moved.”
“When did you move?”
“Just over a year ago, when Mum and David got married.”
“What did you think about that? When they got married?”
“I was pleased.”
“And your stepfather. How well do you get on with him?”
“The same. We get on well.”
“How comfortable do you feel in his presence?”
“Fine. He’s all right.” I fold my arms again. Inside, I squirm, sure what Laura wants to hear. I’m equally sure I won’t tell her.
Mum says, “I don’t like what you’re implying. Can’t you see my daughter’s distressed? And it’s not my Dave who’s upset her, but your questions.”
Gently, Hattie says, “This is a criminal investigation, and we have to ask these questions. I’m sorry they’re upsetting for you, Emily.”
“Are you okay to carry on?” Laura asks.
“Yes.” I realise that I must give her part of the truth, the bits that Mum knows about.
“David is an artist too, isn’t he?”
“Yes, David is really good at art. We paint together, sometimes.”
“Where do you do that?”
“In his den. It’s a studio at the back of the house.”
“Is Mum there with you?”
“Not always… Not usually. It isn’t interesting for her. Watching paint dry.” My cheeks colour. “She’s with us in the kitchen when he helps me with homework, especially maths. I’m useless at that.”
Laura pauses. She and Hattie exchange glances.
“Thank you, Emily. We don’t have further questions. You’re free to go.” Hattie pushes the packet of custard creams towards me. “I bet you could use another biscuit first.”
“I’m always telling her she looks peaky,” Mum says. She helps herself too.
I munch a couple, almost choking on them. I can’t quite believe I’ve successfully lied to the police.
“Rachel, please wait here. We’ll have a word before you go. Laura will take Emily to the waiting area and stay with her there.”
The packet of biscuits is almost finished. Laura offers it to me. “Put them in your handbag for later,” she suggests.
I follow her to the reception lobby.
“Have a seat,” she says, gesturing to a plastic chair and sitting in the one next to it. “Mum won’t be long. Want to tell me more about your artwork? That’s not an official police question. I could tell you liked painting, that’s all.”
“I love it. Art is the only thing I’m good at.”
“What have you painted, apart from a rose?”
I reel off a list, missing out the pictures of David.
Laura says she hopes to see my work in an exhibition one day. We chat about the difficulty of making a living from art. Even David, who is really talented, has to treat it as a hobby.
Hattie returns with Mum. She also gives me my phone back and hands us both business cards. “I’d like you to have my number, in case either of you want to talk to me about anything. Just put it in your phone.”
“Thank you.” Mum taps it in.
“Call me whenever you like. You too, Emily.”
I hold it together until we’re outside, then burst into tears.
“I can’t imagine we’ll ring that Hattie. She wouldn’t say why they arrested Dave. And she let Laura ask you horrible questions.” Mum flings her arms around me. “Are you all right, sweetheart?”
“No,” I sniff.
“Let’s have a cup of tea. There’s a Waitrose over there. I’ll take you for a drink and piece of cake.”
“Please can we just go home?”
“Yes, when you’ve had a cry and a hug. It isn’t true, is it? I’m sure Dave would never―”
“Of course not.” Sobbing, I let Mum hold me, thankful my newfound acting skills haven’t let me down.
We arrive home before David. Mum tried to phone him in Keynsham, but he didn’t answer. Now she has another go.
“Voicemail again.” Mum shakes her head. “He must still be with the police. I’m sure he’ll be back soon. I’ll start cooking.”
“I’ll make a salad and take it to my room.”
Mum’s too stressed to argue. I leave her preparing a meal for David, setting out flowers, candles and wine. It’s her way of coping.
My way is to slink to the den and steal cocktails from the fridge. I take five, sneaking a look at David’s covered easels while I’m there. Two hold half-formed canvases of me, wide-eyed in a nightie and a gymslip. Another is a painting of a girl I don’t recognise, flowers in her curly fair hair. I’ll have to ask David about her later.
Although a Woo Woo softens the blow of my geography homework, it’s hard to concentrate. I give up and start watching YouTube. Although I still like One Direction’s music, it’s too breezy for me right now. Sighing, I switch to Alan Walker. His sad lyrics suit my edgy mood.
I nearly miss the sound of the front door banging shut. At last, David has returned. I race downstairs.
“David! Are you okay?”
He looks dreadful. There are bags under his eyes and his skin is grey, despite a recent tan from Thailand.
“I’ll talk to you later, Princess.” He winks, then turns to Mum.
She’s just emerged from the kitchen, in such a hurry that she still has flour on her hands. A trail of it has followed her.
“What’s going on, Dave?”
“Pas devant les enfants.”
Thanks to Marston Manor’s relentless lessons, I understand French better than Mum. Sulking, I stomp to my bedroom.
I don’t stay there long, though. Removing shoes and socks, I creep back downstairs. Tiptoeing through the drawing room, I sneak into the butler’s pantry.
At the other end of the cubbyhole, the door to the kitchen is closed. I crouch against it and listen.
There’s a slosh of wine being poured and a clink of glasses.
“This is lovely, Rachel. I’m so glad to be home.”
“Dave, tell me what happened,” Mum pleads.
David sighs. “I wanted to keep you out of this.”
“You can’t now the police have dragged me and Emily into it. They asked Emily nasty questions – it was revolting.” Her voice breaks into a sob.
“Don’t cry. Please.” There’s a long pause before he says, “It’s Nikki and Beth.”
“Your ex and her daughter?”
“Especially the daughter. Beth.” He groans. “She was always a troubled soul, a difficult adolescent. Cutting herself, taking drugs – that was the least of it. She was jealous from the moment I entered Nikki’s life and did her best to destroy our marriage. She succeeded, of course.”
“But why―”
“She’s committed suicide. And left a note saying I molested her. I swea
r, Rachel, I would never do such a thing.”
“Of course you wouldn’t. When the police were asking Emily about you, she didn’t know where to hide her face. She was so embarrassed.”
“Thank goodness you’ve brought her up to tell the truth. I’m sorry she had to go through that.”
“It’s not your fault. How horrendous for your ex, and for you. You can rely on me and Emily to back you up if the police ask questions again.”
“I’m lucky to have you. Why would I look at another woman, let alone a young girl? You’re perfect. I knew you were special the minute I laid eyes on you.”
There’s silence for a while, then Mum says huskily, “Mmm. I’m so glad Emily insisted on going to your exhibition.”
They must have been kissing. I feel sick.
“Me too. I like painting with Emily. Her art shows great promise. I’m proud to call her my daughter. Although I worry that she’s growing up too fast. Maybe I shouldn’t have encouraged her to use make-up.”
Mum actually laughs. “That was ages ago, for our wedding. Don’t blame yourself for that, Dave. All teenage girls experiment with it.”
“You’re so understanding. Let’s open another bottle of wine. I really need it.”
A voice in my head is screaming. David told me I was special, and he’s just said the same to Mum. How many others have shared his love? Was Beth his muse too? Tears welling, I tiptoe back upstairs to my room.
Chapter 25 October 2016 - Emily
“Good morning! If you get up now, you can join us for a full English breakfast.” Mum hovers at my bedroom doorway, smile as bright as her pink spotted Cath Kidston apron.
Remnants of nightmares flit through my brain, pushed away by a raw throb of dismay as I wake up and remember. After eavesdropping on Mum and David last night, I drank the rest of the cocktails. They eased my torment, but my troubles haven’t gone away.
I moan, clearing the grit from my eyes. “What time is it?”
“Nine o’clock. Late, I know. Dave and I had too much to drink yesterday. I thought you’d beat us out of bed.”
“I didn’t sleep well. There was thunder.” That, at least, is true. October rain is still lashing the window.
I wonder how I can avoid facing David over the breakfast table. “I’ll get myself toast later, Mum. If I don’t start my biology homework now, I’ll fall behind.”
“I’ll bring a plateful to you up here. We all need a treat today.”
I grunt evasively, throwing off the covers as Mum leaves. By the time aromas of frying bacon drift upstairs, I’ve discovered my weight is three hundred grammes up on yesterday. I won’t be eating more than a fraction of the lovingly cooked meal.
It does smell tempting, though, when she returns with the bacon and eggs. She’s heaped buttery mushrooms around them, and brought tea and toast too. “Your mouth’s watering,” she says.
“Yum.” I make a convincing display of enthusiasm, spearing the tiniest mushroom with my fork. “What are you doing today, Mum?”
“It’ll be really busy. There’s a wedding. Bouquets, boutonnières and corsages have to be delivered by two thirty. Then it’s off to get the reception ready. Lucky I did most of the prepping yesterday morning, before that nonsense blew up. The flowers are all in the utility room. Why not come and see? The colours are gorgeous.”
“Sorry, I’ve just got too much homework.” I want to push weddings to the back of my mind, beneath the waves of confusion that threaten to overwhelm me. The undertow clutches at me, carrying with it the thought that David will never marry me at sixteen or any other age. I squint to stem my tears.
Oblivious to my turmoil. Mum babbles on. “It’s just as well you have plenty to occupy you. Dave’s snowed under too, setting up his new computer and catching up with work.”
“In the den, then, with a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign?”
“You got it.” Mum looks at her watch. “Oops, running late. Would you mind clearing up the breakfast things, sweetheart?”
“No probs.” It gives me a chance to throw most of my food away. Half an hour later, I do just that, loading the dishwasher and sweeping up crumbs in the kitchen. David rarely helps with housework. I suppose before Mum and I moved in, he paid a cleaner to do it for him.
Taking another mug of tea upstairs, I try to focus on biology. The topic is genetics. My textbook mentions sex, but not passion and love. Thinking of David’s touch, I begin to cry.
Eventually, I hear a car door slam. Glancing outside, I see Mum has loaded her van and is about to set off. I knock on the window and wave. When I’m sure she has left, I head to David’s den.
It’s locked. I hadn’t expected that. I start hammering on the door.
“What―” David looks afraid when he opens it, but his dark eyes swiftly turn annoyed. “Emily, I’ve told you not to bother me when I’m working.”
There are pieces of paper, a rolled-up banknote and a headset on the standing desk. His MacBook is nowhere in sight, but the Golden Girls picture is hung at a crooked angle.
“You’re not working. Anyway, you didn’t used to mind being interrupted.”
“That was then, Princess. Now, haven’t you got any homework?”
“Was Beth your princess too?” It’s the question that has gnawed at me all night and morning.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” David’s voice rises.
“You know what I mean.” The floodgates have opened and my fears are spilling out. “Were you talking to a naked girl in Thailand again, or just taking drugs while you watched porn?”
“You’re acting like a stroppy teenager, Emily. That’s enough.” His eyes are blazing.
I can’t stop, now I’m sure I know the truth. “I’m growing up, and you don’t like it. That’s how it was with Beth, wasn’t it?”
“Enough!” David grabs my arm.
“Ouch. David, don’t,” I scream. It feels as if my bones are being crushed.
He ignores me, his fingers tightening to send a wave of pain through my arm.
“I... I should have told the police everything…”
“Don’t even think about it.” David pulls me inside the den, twisting my left wrist as he shoves me roughly to the floor. Closing the door, he locks it again. “You’re not leaving my den until you know who’s boss.”
“You hurt me, David.” My arm is throbbing, my lip trembling with fear and shock.
“You can expect more if you don’t behave. Hurting you is the least of it. With a single phone call, I could order you dead. I have powerful friends who hate the police as much as I do. They hate a snitch even more.”
I cringe. “I didn’t tell them anything.”
“And you won’t, if you know what’s good for you. Speak a word, especially to the police, and you’re putting yourself and your mother in danger. Think I just sell furniture? When she delivers flowers, she’s also carrying some very special merchandise with her.”
“W-what kind of merchandise?” As soon as I’ve said it, I know the answer. The boxes of chocolate elephants aren’t what they seem.
“She’ll be in big trouble if you talk. Understand?”
Struck dumb by his change of personality, I nod.
“Good girl. Now, take your clothes off. I’m really going to teach you a lesson. An enjoyable one.” He licks his lips.
After further threats, David finally unlocks the door. Rain pelts my skin as I lurch into the garden, almost collapsing. I can hardly walk. Somehow, I make my way to the bathroom and run the hottest bath I can. The pain subsides in the warm water, until I scrub at my body furiously. I can’t imagine I’ll ever be clean again. The soft towel gives me some comfort, but I still feel raw and used.
I stumble downstairs to the kitchen. There’s a wine fridge, where David keeps bottles at a perfect temperature for drinking. He and Mum pour me a glass sometimes. Although I prefer cocktails and champagne, right now, I’ll drink whatever I can lay my hands on. I choose a random bottle of white with a scre
w top.
Sitting down on the hard chairs in the kitchen is painful. I place bottle and glass into a carrier bag, so I can take them upstairs one-handed. Snuggling in bed, I sip cold wine.
There’s a knock on the door. Without waiting for a reply, David pushes it open.
“Princess, have I hurt you? I’m sorry.” His voice radiates concern.
I put down my glass and pull the duvet around myself. My mouth is twitching uncontrollably.
As tears begin to fall, David sits next to me and wipes them away with his finger.
I flinch. “Please don’t.”
He stops and strokes my hair instead. His touch is tender.
“I didn’t mean to, Princess. I’ve been so stressed and I did a line or two, just to cope. Then you started on me and it was too much. You pushed me too far.”
I daren’t say anything. This is the David I know and love, but how can I be sure he won’t become a violent stranger again?
“Let’s clean you up.”
“I’ve had a bath, David.”
“I meant your arm. We can’t let your mum see you like that. You do realise, if she found out you’d slept with me, she’d hate you forever.”
I remember Mum’s happiness on her wedding day and the way she supported him last night. She loves David. He’s right; he must be. She’d want nothing more to do with me if she knew I’d tried to take him away from her.
“We don’t want her to learn about your secret, do we? Get up, Princess. Look, it’s going to bruise. It’s already bright red. Rachel has Pan Stik in her make-up bag; we’ll use that.”
He disappears, returning with Mum’s pancake foundation and another glass.
“Cheers.” He pours himself a drink and refills mine. “Now, hold your arm out.”
Mute, I knock back the wine and do as I’m told.
“I’ll be as gentle as I can. Those girls in the MAC shop couldn’t be more careful.” He rubs the heavy foundation onto his fingers, then strokes my skin to apply it.
I wince. When I look down, the redness has completely vanished.
“Perfect.” He kisses my mouth. “Get some rest. I’ll see you later.”
I wipe the taste of him off my lips, swig the last of the wine from the bottle, and crawl into bed.