Losing You

by Susan Lewis

  She hated leaving Lauren trapped in the bubble, but her grandmother was with her and she was receiving the best care the hospital could offer, so slipping away for a few hours should be all right, and this was something she had to do.

  It felt freeing, and yet unnerving, to be travelling at high speed through fields that sparkled in late winter sunshine and stretched as far as the eye could see. She was remembering other journeys she’d made on this line or on other trains, so many down the years, almost always with Lauren and usually with Will. She could see Lauren, aged three, standing on Will’s lap clapping her hands in delight as they passed cows and sheep; or chatting to other passengers about where they lived, or the different places they’d been for their holidays. She could hear her girlish laughter, her music, her excitement for new adventures or friends. She was always so full of sunshine and exuberance. Her whole life had seemed charmed, from her looks, to her nature, to the God-given talent and compassion that had made her who she was – who she’d been – until twenty-three excruciating days ago.

  Emma felt herself starting to freeze inside. Lauren had changed before that, without her noticing. Things had happened to her, been done to her, to turn her from a girl into a woman, an innocent into someone who’d seemed to exult in the acts she was performing for a man who was unashamedly exploiting her schoolgirl crush. It didn’t matter that she was eighteen; he’d broken every possible rule of moral conduct and teacher responsibility there was to break. Lauren Scott wasn’t there for him to use as his plaything and whether she had been a willing party or not, he simply could not be allowed to get away with what he’d done.

  Feeling the tightness of more anger clenching her insides, she put her head against the window and forced herself to breathe slowly, deeply. She knew how she was going to handle this, had worked out exactly what she was going to say, but the emotion tearing through her heart could easily steal her resolve and send her reeling into a quagmire of useless despair. She needed to stay in control, make sure that he understood every word she was saying and was left in no doubt at the end of it that his career was over. The evidence of his corruption was tucked safely inside her bag, photocopies of the extracts she’d shown Polly yesterday. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to return to the more explicit entries, nor had she wanted to run the unthinkable risk of them having some kind of prurient effect on him.

  Opening up her mobile as it bleeped with a text, she was glad to see it was from Polly. Still think you should have let me come with you, but I’m there in spirit. Please don’t rule out calling Will. I understand it might turn violent if you do, but can’t honestly see the harm in that. B ... deserves it. Call as soon as you can. Will be there to meet you off train. Px

  A part of her was wishing that she had let Polly come with her, or Will, but this was something she had to do alone, even though, like Polly, she wouldn’t have minded at all if Will knocked Philip Leesom to the furthest-flung reaches of kingdom come. However, she simply couldn’t bear Will to know how Lauren had behaved; nor, if the time ever came and please God it would, did she want Lauren to have to face the shame of her father knowing that she was capable of even writing such explicit sex, never mind engaging in it. She knew she’d eventually have to tell Will at least some of what had gone on; he was still agitating for answers to where Lauren had been that night, and better she broke it to him than the police. By then the diary and all evidence of it would be long gone, and so too, she hoped, would Philip Leesom.

  Out of nowhere she found herself thinking of Oliver Lomax and his family, and wondering what they were doing now. Had anything improved for the mother? Had the blood sample turned up? She didn’t really care, but she couldn’t not care either, when, as far as she could tell, Oliver Lomax was no more to blame for his mother’s addiction than Lauren was for Philip Leesom’s exploitation. They were victims, both of them, of people they trusted and loved.

  It was just after three thirty when Emma walked through the arch beneath the soaring clock tower of the school’s main building and began threading her way through the corridors – high, bright passageways, enlivened by vibrant teenage art and noticeboards promoting all kinds of meetings and activities. She passed no one – most students were still in class, or taking study periods in the library, or in the sports hall in another building. She knew, from Lauren’s roster, that Leesom was taking Upper Sixth for a double period till four, a class Lauren would have been attending if Leesom hadn’t been the guiding hand of this stage of her journey through English literature. Given the choice she’d obviously prefer that Lauren was still under his influence rather than where she was now, but she didn’t have the choice. That had been taken away from her the night he’d enticed Lauren down to Glastonbury for the sole purpose of the sick entertainment of him and his friends.

  Though she was shaking inside, now she was here she had no doubt she could go through with this, though God knew she longed for it to be over.

  On reaching the windows to his classroom, big and wide, allowing a clear view in from the corridor, she stopped and spotted him almost instantly, leaning against a wall next to the board, his large, muscled arms folded, his beautiful Byronic head tilted to one side as he listened to a student reading or reciting, or perhaps commenting on a text. Emma didn’t know, nor did she care; she simply fixed her eyes on his sickening face and waited.

  It took almost no time for his head to come up; from the way his expression changed she knew that he knew straight away why she was there.

  If he didn’t come out, she was ready to go in, if necessary she’d begin the showdown in front of the class, but he didn’t waste any time in excusing himself and coming to the door. As she moved forward she caught a glimpse of Donna’s frightened young face, but she couldn’t deal with her now. All her focus was on Leesom, and as he let himself out into the corridor, rapidly closing the door behind him, she brushed aside his ludicrous attempt at surprise and concern, and headed for his office.

  ‘I didn’t realise you were coming,’ he babbled cravenly as he followed on behind her, his usual aplomb deserting him. ‘I sent an email. Did you get it? I was hoping ...’ His voice trailed off as someone passed from the other direction.

  Finding his office door locked, Emma stood aside and waited for him to open it, trying not to think of the diary entries recounting how he’d turned the key from the inside to make sure he and Lauren weren’t disturbed. A flash of pure rage fired up inside her, making her want to smash her fists straight into his head and ram it into the door frame as he leaned forward to insert the key.

  She stepped into the room ahead of him, waited for him to follow, then taking the door she slammed it shut.

  ‘Emma, what’s happened?’ he cried, looking extremely nervous.

  ‘You know what’s happened,’ she told him in a dangerously low voice. ‘I’m not going to demean myself by spelling it out, all you need to know is that today is your last at this school, or any other. You will never have access to young girls again to corrupt and abuse them the way you have with my daughter.’

  ‘Emma, wait, wait ...’

  ‘This is the end of your career,’ she pressed on. ‘I want you to come with me now to the headmaster’s study to explain why you are handing in your resignation and why it must be effective immediately.’

  A guilty colour was creeping up his neck; his moodily romantic eyes were sharpening with fear. Yet somehow his voice was smooth as he said, ‘Emma, I don’t understand. Why are you ...?’

  Her voice was shaking, so was she. ‘I have written evidence here in my bag of the things you’ve done to Lauren. They are so disgusting they make me want to kill you. If her father knew, you can be sure he would.’

  ‘Please, you have to listen to what I’m telling you. I don’t know what you ... This evidence ... I ...’

  Emma’s eyes bored into his. ‘It’s her diary. She wrote it all down.’

  Shock stripped the colour from his face. ‘But – but you must understand t
hat young girls of Lauren’s age are very fanciful, hormonal ...’

  ‘Don’t you dare try that with me! There was nothing fanciful or hormonal about your friends’ address on her mobile phone. And what the hell is fanciful or hormonal about where she is now? I’m holding you responsible for what’s happened to her, I hope you realise that. If it weren’t for you she’d never have been on that road, and that wretched boy would never have hit her. You’ve ruined her life. She’ll probably never be the same again, and you are wholly to blame for that.’ She sobbed, caught her breath and forced herself to go on glaring at him.

  ‘Emma, you’ve got it wrong,’ he told her urgently. ‘I swear I’ve never laid a finger on her in the way you’re thinking ...’

  ‘Then call Donna Corrigan in here. Let’s see if you can deny it in front of her.’

  ‘But there’s no need for that ...’

  ‘I can always get her myself.’

  ‘Please, Emma, try to think of what you’re doing. Is this really what you want for Lauren? She’s a good, sweet girl with ...’

  ‘Don’t speak about my daughter in that tone,’ she seethed, clenching her fists to stop herself slapping him. ‘I never want to hear you utter her name again. Now I want you to come with me to Mr Gibbs so we can get this over with.’

  He shook his head in helpless dismay. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t do that, because you’re making a terrible mistake ... What are you doing?’ he cried as she marched to his desk and snatched up the phone.

  ‘I’m asking the head to come here.’

  ‘No, don’t,’ he protested, coming to wrest the phone from her. ‘We can sort this out ...’

  ‘And I’ve already told you how we’re going to do it. There’s no room for negotiation.’

  ‘But there has to be. Think of the girls we’ve just left. They’re about to sit some of the most crucial exams of their lives. Do you seriously want me to walk out on them now?’

  ‘What I want is that you never set eyes, or hands, on any one of them ever again. They’re far enough into their studies to make it without you now, and even if they weren’t, A levels or no A levels, do you seriously think there’s a parent alive who’d want you within a mile of their daughter if they knew what you’d done to mine?’

  ‘But I haven’t done anything to yours. Whatever you’ve read, whatever Lauren’s written, it’s all in her mind.’

  Emma could feel herself losing ground, becoming undermined by his insistence. How sure was she? Where was her proof? She suddenly couldn’t think.

  Seizing the moment, he said, ‘I’m afraid this isn’t the first time I’ve been accused of an improper relationship with a student. There was another girl, the year before last, who told her friends we were romantically involved. It was all a fantasy; a way of making herself seem special, more important, I suppose.’

  ‘Lauren would never do that. And she wouldn’t have the first idea about any of the things she’s written about if you hadn’t taught her.’

  He was shaking his head; his eyes were burning a plea. ‘I’m afraid you’re underestimating the imaginations of eighteen-year-old girls, but what’s more important here, as I see it, is the degree of stress you’re under at this time. I can quite understand why you’re getting things out of perspective, anyone would in your position. And I’m truly sorry that you had to find this diary of Lauren’s, because obviously what she’s written has added greatly to the dreadful ordeal you’re going through.’

  She was hearing his words, even thinking that he could be right, because somehow he was making a certain sort of sense. Half out of her mind with fear and worry, might she be capable of misconstruing or not even understanding what was in front of her eyes? Her heart twisted with anguish. She was losing her thread, forgetting what she needed to say. But then she remembered her call to Clive Andrews, the address he’d told her was on Lauren’s phone, the number it had come from, who it was registered to, and suddenly it was as though everything around her was erupting all over again. She couldn’t take any more. She barely knew what she was saying or doing as hysteria streamed out of her uncontrollably. She looked around desperately for anything she could throw at him. She wanted to smash the place up, the way her own life had been smashed up. Her daughter was dying, might even already be dead, and she was keeping her alive because she was too selfish to let her go. She didn’t know what to do any more. Everything was crashing in around her. She was a terrible mother; terrible things had happened to her child and now she was being punished by a god too cruel to care. And this man, this pervert, was trying to make out he was innocent and she was mad and maybe she was ... She could see the car coming, she needed to get out of the way, but she couldn’t ...

  ‘Lauren!’ she screamed. ‘Lauren, please don’t go ... Oh God, I want my baby, please, please don’t take my baby ...’

  ‘Sssh, ssh, there now,’ a woman’s voice was soothing. ‘Get her some water,’ she barked over her shoulder. Warm arms enfolded her, and Emma felt deep and painful sobs cutting right through her. She had no energy, she didn’t know where she was; she couldn’t make sense of anything. Who was this woman? Where had she come from?

  Trying hard to breathe she sat forward, her head reeling as she dropped it into her hands. She had to get a grip, pull herself back together. ‘I’m – I’m sorry,’ she whispered raggedly. She’d disgraced herself, broken down, exploded, but that didn’t change what had happened, what he’d done to Lauren ...

  ‘There’s nothing to apologise for,’ the woman told her. ‘The strain you’re under is immense.’

  Emma raised her head as the woman knelt in front of her and took her hands. She was still sobbing, huge, racking chokes of grief. Her baby was dying. Maybe she was already dead. Please God, no, no, no. She recognised the woman now. It was Felicity Barker, the deputy head.

  ‘I was passing and heard you shouting,’ Felicity explained.

  ‘Where is he?’ Emma asked. ‘Do you know what he’s done?’

  Felicity Barker regarded her regretfully.

  ‘Please look in my bag. You need to see ...’

  Felicity looked up as the door opened and Philip Leesom came in with a large glass of water. He looked tense and pale; his eyes darted tentatively between Emma and the deputy head.

  ‘Are you feeling better now?’ he asked Emma, nervously offering her the water.

  Ignoring him, Emma said to Felicity, ‘Please take me to Mr Gibbs.’

  ‘But, Emma,’ Leesom protested.

  Emma turned to him, her eyes flashing again. ‘He needs to know about the kind of education you’ve been giving my daughter ...’

  ‘But I’ve tried to explain ...’

  ‘There are no explanations, no excuses for the fact that you texted her, from a mobile registered in your name, the address of that place outside Glastonbury. You even got her to take her flute so she could play for you and your friends.’

  His chiselled jaw slackened with shock as an ugly rush of colour stained his neck. His eyes darted to Felicity, who was looking more alarmed now than confused.

  ‘Yes, she took the flute,’ Emma told him fiercely. ‘She was willing to do whatever you wanted, because she was completely besotted with you, and knowing it you didn’t hold back, did you? You took advantage of her in every possible way. I know Donna’s got a crush on you too, I suspect half the girls in the school have, but the only one you were meeting that night was my daughter, who’s now in intensive care, fighting for her life. Tell me you feel at least some sense of remorse, or responsibility for putting her there. Let me hear you admit that you have a shred of decency left in you to care about the fact that if you hadn’t told her to go there that night this would never have happened. Oh God, you’re going to start lying again, I can see it in your eyes. You’re going to twist things round to make me look deranged with grief. Well, I am and I admit it, but it doesn’t change what you’ve done, or who you are, and I’m telling you now, I will not be leaving here today until I know that every g
irl in this school is safe from you.’

  Looking at Felicity, Leesom threw out his hands in despair. ‘I don’t know what to do,’ he said. ‘I can’t admit to something I haven’t done. I understand why ...’

  ‘It’s all written down,’ Emma reminded him, her voice shuddering with more emotion.

  ‘Then please let me see it. If it’s about me I surely have that right.’

  Knowing he’d use the fact that his name wasn’t actually spelled out to defend himself, she said, ‘You can see what I have here, but then I want Donna Corrigan to see it too.’

  His eyes were suddenly shot through with unease. ‘But why?’

  ‘Because she won’t find it as easy to lie as you clearly do. In fact, I believe that reading these diary entries will terrify her, which is very probably what’s terrifying you about inviting her in.’

  Felicity’s expression was harsh as she stared at Leesom.

  ‘But this is absurd,’ he protested. ‘Felicity, you can see what a state she’s in. We can’t let this go any further.’

  Felicity began to reply, but then he was shouting as Emma started for the door.

  In one swift move he was grabbing her and spinning her round. ‘Emma, wait, you have to listen to me,’ he urged. ‘Doing this won’t solve anything. Lauren will still be where she is at the end of it, and you will have ruined my life for ...’

  ‘Do you think I care about your life when you’ve already ruined hers?’ Emma broke in scathingly. ‘Even before the accident you’d taken her down a road she should never even have known existed ...’

  ‘For Christ’s sake,’ he shouted desperately, ‘she wasn’t a virgin, and she’s eighteen, old enough to know her own mind.’

  As Felicity gasped Emma’s face turned white. An admission at last, and to her disgust, not even the slightest tremor of remorse. ‘That’s just where you’re wrong,’ she told him quietly, ‘because she was a virgin, and she wasn’t old enough to know her own mind. That’s why she was here, at this school, being educated, shaped for her future ...’