Silent Victim

by Caroline Mitchell

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Look, this isn’t the time. We’re both soaking wet, and we need to get home. We can talk about it then.’

  My fury remained long after the call ended. Jamie was little more than a toddler; why hadn’t she been watching him? I had accepted that Emma had her own struggles to contend with and was not always as focused as she should have been. But this was different. This involved our defenceless child. Was she fit to look after him at all?

  As we lay in bed that night, I stared up at the ceiling wondering what had happened to our happy home. Had it ever really existed at all? I turned towards Emma, touching her hair and smoothing it. ‘Are you awake?’ I said, knowing she was.

  Her steady inhalation of breath paused as she considered her response. After a couple of seconds she turned to face me, her eyes wet with tears. I felt a soft, warm pang in my heart at the sight of the woman I loved so upset because of something I had said. Our argument had been whispered, so as to protect our son. But that did not stop my words cutting her to the bone. I had witnessed the pain in her eyes as my accusations found a home. We had been through some tough times, and she had done a terrible thing, leaving Jamie alone in the car. But I was her husband and the day I took my vows I had sworn to stay with her through thick and thin. What sort of a man was I, abandoning her when she needed me the most? ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, ‘I shouldn’t have taken my anger out on you. Jamie is fine. That’s the most important thing.’

  She nodded, biting down on her bottom lip as she held in a sob. The light of the moon filtered in through our window, displaying the remorse etched on her face.

  ‘We’ll get through this,’ I said, wiping away her tear with my thumb. ‘What’s done is done. We have a whole new life in front of us, you, me and Jamie. He needs us to be strong.’

  ‘That’s all I want,’ she said quietly. ‘Our little family. I promise. I won’t take my eyes off him again.’

  At least she wasn’t trying to shift the blame any more. That’s what had riled me in the first place. Instead of being sorry for leaving him, she had used Luke as an excuse rather than face up to her responsibilities. It was Luke who had opened the car door, just as it was Luke who had made the silent call and rapped on our window the night before. It was a good job I had not told her about the dead mouse I found in the kitchen today, or she would have blamed Luke for that too. Had Emma convinced herself that everything was his fault? According to Luke, the only person I should be worried about was my wife, who had some serious mental health issues. I had tried to question Jamie tentatively, but he had clammed up, no longer willing to speak about it.

  ‘Do you think you forgot to lock the car?’ I said, keeping my tone gentle so as not to sound like an accusation. ‘Is it possible you might not have pressed the central locking button?’

  ‘It was pouring with rain,’ she said. ‘I was fiddling with my umbrella as well as the change for the car park. I’m sure I locked it. I heard it click.’

  I interlocked my hands behind my head as I lay on the pillow, trying to make sense of it all. ‘You might have pressed the button to open the doors by mistake? That makes a clicking sound too.’

  Silence passed between us, and all I could hear was the soft brush of the wind against the windowpane. Somewhere in the distance, an owl shrieked. A wave of tiredness overcame me.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said eventually. ‘I’m tired of talking about it. I just want to go to sleep.’

  I felt the gap between us widen. It was almost like a physical shift as Emma drew herself away to the edge of the bed. Up until then, I had always been the one who fixed things. But now I lay there, my head full of dismantled thoughts that I could not repair. Emma was upset because I had not sided with her straight away. But it was such a big ask when my head was still filled with revelations. She said she had killed someone yet their body was gone. She claimed she had been stalked by Luke, yet the man I’d met was polite and charming, and said Emma was dangerous and unhinged. I had cast his words aside as I didn’t want to believe them. I’d told myself that, when we moved, everything would be OK. But we were building up to something; I could feel it. Jamie could have died due to Emma’s lack of care. I was out of my depth. I needed to speak to somebody who could advise me what to do. Theresa. If anyone knew the truth about Luke and Emma it would be her. She was the one person I trusted to tell it like it was.

  ‘He’s out there,’ Emma said, just as I was drifting off to sleep. ‘He’s out there waiting for me, and there’s nothing I can do.’

  I blinked, checking the bedside clock. It was three in the morning. ‘Emma?’ I said listening in the darkness for her response. But she was asleep, having another bad dream. I closed my eyes, wishing we could escape this living nightmare.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  EMMA

  2003

  My heart thumping double time, I closed the toilet cubicle and pulled down the seat before dumping my schoolbag on the floor. Tears pricked my eyes, my limbs shaking from humiliation. It was bad enough that I’d not heard from Luke over Christmas, but this latest betrayal was too much. I heard the swish of the main door open and tried to mask my sniffles into a tissue. A sharp knock on my cubicle door made me jump to my senses.

  ‘Come out, Emma, I need to talk to you.’

  It was Luke. What was he doing in the girls’ toilets? I held my breath, unsure. His anger was apparent by the tone of his voice, but I had a right to be angry too. I blew my nose, blotting the mascara beneath my lids. I had returned to school after closing time, knowing he was staying on late to mark our work. Foolishly, I thought I could win him over. ‘I don’t want to talk to you,’ I said, rising from the seat just the same.

  I had barely slid the lock across when he pushed open the door and dragged me out. ‘You’re hurting me,’ I said, wincing as his fingers bit into my flesh.

  ‘It’s nothing compared to what I’ll do if you don’t drop this.’ Spittle laced his words as he pressed his face close to mine.

  My eyes roamed over the other empty stalls. He was taking a chance, coming in here where anyone could walk in. But an after-school football match had driven any stragglers outdoors. I recoiled from his grip, the fury in his gaze telling me that rational thought was not present. A bright-pink flush had risen from the neck of his shirt collar, and his eyes bulged in their sockets as his anger became clear. For the first time in my life, I was scared of him. ‘I saw you . . . with her.’ My words trembled as he loomed above me, his muscles taut beneath his shirt. I had gone to his class in the hope of speaking to Luke alone. Finding him alone with another student had been the last thing I had expected to stumble upon. I knew the girl by sight; her name was Sophie. She must have been only fourteen or fifteen, yet he was leaning over her, his hand guiding hers across the page as she drew. Her long blonde hair shadowed her face, but not enough to disguise the blush rising to her cheeks. I had forgotten my previous promises of discretion as I launched into a tirade. Her eyes wide, the girl had looked at me as if I had lost my mind.

  Luke lowered his voice to a menacing whisper as the caretaker’s whistles echoed from the hall. ‘I’m a teacher. It’s what I do. Now, I’ve tried asking nicely. If you don’t stop this ridiculous behaviour I’ll take things further.’

  ‘Like you took things further in the beach hut?’ I asked, hurt casting an edge to my words. ‘I know why you’re doing this. You’re scared of getting too close because of what happened to you when you were young.’

  Taking a step back, his anger seemed to evaporate at the mention of his shared secret. A cold, thin laugh escaped his lips. ‘Do you really think that’s why I can’t stand you any more?’ Placing his hand on my shoulder, he pushed me towards the mirror. ‘Look at yourself, with your greasy lipstick and cheap perfume. You’re pathetic. Why the hell would I be interested in you?’

  My stomach churned as I was faced with my reflection. The cosmetics were a Christmas present from Tizzy, and I’d worn them in an effort to wi
n him back. But my attempts at applying it needed practice, and under the strip lighting of the school bathroom I was reminded of a scene with my mother all over again. The night she left, shoving my face into the mirror, telling me what a pig I had become. Tears streaked down my face as I bore the brunt of Luke’s cruelty, each word slicing into my soul. But he was not finished yet.

  ‘You threw yourself at me, because you thought sex was the only way of holding on to what we had. But in offering it up on a plate, you lost all my respect.’

  ‘No,’ I blurted, swallowing back my tears. ‘You said if I didn’t have sex that you’d finish it.’

  ‘Really? Are you sure? Because sex didn’t come into the conversation as far as I was concerned.’

  ‘Wha . . . what?’ I stuttered, barely able to believe what I was hearing.

  ‘When I said I wanted a serious relationship, I was talking about baring our souls, not our bodies. I asked you to the beach hut so we could talk.’

  ‘No,’ I said, searching the corridors of my memory for the truth. ‘You said . . .’

  Luke shrugged. ‘I was scared at the prospect of opening up; most victims of abuse are. But you turned all of that on its head when you locked the door and made it clear what you were really after. I was hardly going to say no.’

  I pushed my hands to the side of my forehead, trying to extract the memory. Had he actually mentioned sex or had I misunderstood what he’d said? ‘Please, Luke, I’m sorry. I must have taken what you said the wrong way.’

  ‘Yes. You did,’ he said. ‘And while you may think little of your reputation, it’s a different case for me. This is my job. My livelihood.’ He reached for my throat, grasping hold of my sunflower necklace and giving it a tug. I winced as it snapped under his grasp, and he pocketed the remains. ‘So quit with following me around and leaving flowers in your wake. You’re dumped. Get over it.’

  ‘You . . . you don’t mean it,’ I said, gripping the edge of the sink as he turned away. ‘Luke. Are you listening to me?’

  ‘It’s Mr Priestwood to you,’ he replied haughtily, before walking out the door.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  LUKE

  2003

  I felt the heat of the headmistress’s glare long before she summoned me. It felt like a branding iron on the back of my neck. I resisted the urge to turn round until she cleared her throat. I had made it my business to leave my classroom door open after the students had left my class. Such efforts at transparency had come too late and I could tell by the look on the head’s face that word of my run-in with Emma the day before had been spreading.

  ‘Luke. Can I have a word?’ was all she said, and I was brought back to the days when I was the apple of her eye. Back then, being summoned meant extra praise for working hard throughout the year. It was why I had returned here, to the same school I had attended. I didn’t need to put in the effort of creating a friendly facade when the groundwork had already been done. And now, not even a year into my new role, I was being called to her office for a telling-off. My ego had led me to this point, an inability to resist a schoolgirl’s adoration. I may have been the teacher’s pet once myself, but I was not beyond reproach.

  As we marched to her office I was grateful that most of my students had gone home. I tried not to think about Emma as I steadied my breath, but it was an impossible task. I knew without a doubt that she was the reason for the stringent beckoning, and I had my story prepared.

  The head teacher’s office had not changed much over the years. It still housed an old-fashioned Teasmade in the corner that appeared to be more for decorative than practical use. Mrs Pritchard used the recently refurbished staffroom with the rest of us, taking advantage of the Dolce Gusto coffee machine which was always on the go. A large round clock still kept time on the wall behind her desk, and the same wooden photo frames now held updated snapshots of her brood. On the windowsill a dusty-looking bonsai plant absorbed the sun through glass that was long overdue a clean. Tiny beads of sweat broke out on my forehead as I sat in the airless room. Having been forced to spend time with my family over the holidays, I had looked forward to returning to work. The question was, would I be staying? By the look on Mrs Pritchard’s face, I was not so sure.

  She clasped her fingers together, her heavy bosom fighting against the constraints of her blouse as she leaned towards me. ‘I’ve called you here to ask you about one of your students – Emma Hetherington.’

  I remained silent, my face impassive as I waited to hear what I was being accused of.

  ‘There’s no point in beating around the bush so I’ll come straight out with it. What is the nature of your relationship with this young woman?’

  I inhaled a calming breath through my nostrils as I prepared my explanation in my head. ‘The same as with all of my students. She turns up for class – I teach her. Why?’

  ‘Because that’s not what I’ve heard. Apparently there was an incident after school last week and you’ve been seen together in town.’

  ‘Colchester’s not exactly London. I often bump into students when I’m out.’ I sighed, leaving enough of a gap to make it appear as if I was wrestling with my thoughts. ‘Can I be honest with you?’

  ‘I’d prefer it if you were.’

  I rubbed the side of my neck. ‘I wasn’t going to say anything. I’m fairly new to this role and the last thing I wanted was to be knocking on your door with my problems.’

  ‘Which are?’ She arched an enquiring eyebrow.

  ‘Emma’s got a crush on me. I’ve done everything I can to dissuade it, but she’s totally infatuated. It’s even gotten to the point that she’s followed me about in town. If I’ve been seen talking to her outside of school, it’s only because I’ve been gently warning her off.’

  ‘A crush?’ The head folded her arms and gave me a look that suggested she was not quite convinced. ‘You should have spoken to someone if this has gone so far.’

  ‘I did,’ I said, relieved that I’d had the hindsight to talk to my colleagues in the staffroom. ‘Lorraine Rugman and Sean Talbot. I mentioned it to them before Christmas.’

  ‘Hmm,’ she said. ‘Best you don’t leave yourself open to allegations. I’m going to monitor the situation, see how it pans out. Hopefully Emma will get over her infatuation soon.’ She gave me another thoughtful gaze. ‘You’re sure you’ve not done anything to . . . encourage her?’

  ‘I approached you about Emma’s after-school art revision and you approved it. The minute I had an inkling of her feelings I brought them to an end.’ I exhaled an exasperated sigh. ‘Last week I was talking to one of my students after class. Emma burst in and created a scene. I followed her to the toilets to make sure she was OK, but she was in a dreadful state. She said she didn’t want to see me talking to any other girls. I told her she was being ridiculous, that I was a teacher and I treated all my students the same.’

  ‘And that’s all you said? Because she’s been off sick all week.’

  ‘I’ve got a girlfriend. I’ve no intention of risking my career over a silly schoolgirl crush.’ It was a lie, but a fictional girlfriend would suffice. After making me sweat for a few seconds, Mrs Pritchard delivered a warm smile.

  ‘You understand why I had to ask, don’t you? You’ve got a bright future ahead of you. I’ll be making a record of our conversation and noting your concerns. If there’s anything I can do, my door is open.’

  I leaned across the table and reached out to shake her hand. ‘Thanks. I appreciate your support.’ I said my goodbyes, knowing that as far as Emma was concerned, I was playing a dangerous game. My footsteps echoed as I strode down the corridor to my classroom, inhaling the smell of gym clothes and well-thumbed books. A door slammed in the distance as the last of the students hurried to class. How I loved this arena, and the prospect of being delivered a batch of fresh-faced teenagers each year. But for now, my focus was on Emma because I was not quite finished with her yet. My chat with the head had made me realise Emma’s work wasn’
t up to scratch, and wouldn’t be making the art exhibition after all. I would enjoy teasing her tomorrow, my little puppet on a string.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  ALEX

  2017

  Inhaling the comforting scent of freshly ground coffee, I pretended for just a few minutes that everything was under control. A shaft of long-overdue sunlight flooded in through the window of Costa Coffee, and I basked in its heat as I queued, waiting for our drinks to be made.

  ‘Alex?’ Theresa spoke, touching me on the forearm.

  A smile graced my lips. ‘Thanks for coming. I ordered you a coffee.’

  ‘I haven’t got long, I’m afraid.’ She eyed me warily. Her shoulder-length blonde hair was tied back into a short ponytail, and she looked smart and efficient in the black trouser suit she wore for work. I joined her at the quietest table I could find. As I passed her the shortbread biscuits, I thought of how nice it was not to receive a look of disdain in return. Food had always been a battlefield for Emma, its very presence bringing instant unease. Theresa took a bite, her little finger wiping away the trail of crumbs from the corner of her mouth.

  ‘It’s Emma,’ I said. ‘I need your help. She’s relapsing, and I don’t know what to do.’

  ‘Is this about what happened to Jamie?’ she said, her eyebrows knitted in concern.

  ‘Partly,’ I said. There was so much more to Emma’s eating disorder than food alone. It stole her concentration, making her physically and mentally unwell. I listlessly stirred my coffee, feeling the burden heavy on my shoulders. ‘I caught her throwing up in the toilet again the other night. She goes from bingeing to barely eating at all. I’m worried it’s taking her focus from Jamie. He could have been run over yesterday.’

  ‘You need to be there for her.’ With the pad of her finger, Theresa picked at the leftover crumbs on the table and deposited them on her plate. ‘What happened with Jamie was an accident, but if you treat her like she’s some godawful person, that’ll cause her to relapse even more.’ She brushed the crumbs from her fingers, finally meeting my eye. ‘Emma’s suffered from anxiety all her life. It’s like this tireless voice in her head, always judging, always pointing out her flaws. You need to be louder than the voice, tell her what an amazing person she is.’