Silent Victim

by Caroline Mitchell

  She prodded me in the chest. ‘You lay a finger on Sophie, or any other girl in school, and I’ll catch you out and I’ll tell, I swear it. I’ll tell everyone. I won’t rest until they put you behind bars.’

  ‘Oh no you don’t, you little bitch.’ Grabbing her hand I twisted it around her back. She screamed as I led her to the table, pushing her face down hard on the wooden surface. Leaning over her, I exerted every ounce of my strength to show her she was sorely mismatched in this fight. ‘I’ve lots more evidence against you. Remember that time you broke into my bedroom? Climbed inside my bed? I’ve got you on CCTV, and I’ve manipulated the date. So all I have to do is call the police and say you’ve been back.’ I ground my pelvis against her hips, my erection straining against my jeans. ‘This is why you’ve really come back here, isn’t it? Because I’m happy to give you a repeat performance if you like.’

  ‘No, please,’ she whimpered, completely at my mercy.

  ‘Because if you say one word about me to anyone,’ I leaned over her ear, spitting the words into the side of her face. ‘I mean one fucking word, I’ll come back to get you. Maybe not now, but sometime in the future. Just when you’re least expecting it.’ I licked her face and she squirmed beneath my touch. ‘You can spend your whole life looking over your shoulder, because nobody messes with me and gets away with it. And I’ll make it good. I’ll make it so nobody believes you. You may think you can come in here and start calling the shots, but you remember one thing.’ I pulled her arm back another inch until she screamed. ‘I can fuck you up any time I like and nobody will believe you.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she whimpered, tears flowing freely down her face. ‘I’ll leave you alone. Please, let me go.’

  I backed away, my arousal evident. She rose from the table, and with her tear-streaked face and dishevelled hair, she looked half-woman, half-girl. As she pulled the bolt across from the door, I blocked her escape with my arm.

  ‘Do we have an understanding?’

  Emma nodded, a small sob jolting her words. ‘Y . . . yes,’ she said. ‘You won’t hear from me again.’

  CHAPTER SEVENTY

  ALEX

  2017

  My throat was scratchy and sore, and I recognised the early signs of a cold, no doubt a by-product of my night-time excursion with Theresa. I looked back on those hours from a distant perspective, as if they hadn’t happened to me at all. I supposed that was how it was becoming with Emma. A coping mechanism when the horrors of her actions ran deep. As I paced Mum’s garden, I couldn’t help but feel that I was missing something. I had thought I was doing the right thing, taking Jamie out of harm’s way. But was Emma that much of a threat? None of my friends in Leeds knew of my troubles, and I did not want to upset Mum by telling her the truth. The only people who knew Emma’s secret were Theresa and me. Emma said she was a victim, Theresa said the exact opposite. Who should I believe? A few weeks ago, there would have been no question. I would have sided with Emma.

  Yet every time I felt compelled to believe her, something happened to change my mind. If the DNA test had turned out differently . . . Lying to me about Jamie was a betrayal too far. I still found myself wondering if we could work around it. Jamie was the best thing that had ever happened to me. I had been desperate for a child and I knew I had piled the pressure on. How could I be angry about that?

  On Mum’s radio in the kitchen, a George Benson song played. ‘Nothing’s Gonna Change My Love for You’ . . . Our first dance. I felt a guilty pang as the tune filled the air. It was as if the world was conspiring to bring me back to her. I had meant every word as I hummed it to her on the dance floor. Why hadn’t I been honest with her and told her that I knew there was more going on between her and Luke than she was letting on? Internally, my emotions played out a game of tug-of-war. I took a breath as I found my mother in the living room. I had to get a grip. I had Jamie to think about now.

  ‘What’s wrong now?’ Mum said, concern growing as she took in the expression on my face.

  ‘I’ve got to go back to Mersea,’ I said, keeping my voice low. ‘Can you keep an eye on Jamie for me? I think Emma’s in trouble. I should never have left her.’

  ‘I wish you’d tell me what’s going on,’ she said. ‘Alex, are you listening to me?’

  ‘There’s no time,’ I said. ‘I think her sister wants to hurt her. I can’t get through on the phone. Please, Mum.’

  She exhaled in frustration. ‘What am I going to tell him?’

  I kissed her on the cheek before opening the front door. ‘Tell him I’ve gone to get his mum. I’m bringing Emma back.’

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE

  EMMA

  2017

  My eyes widened at the force of my sister’s revelation. ‘Where is she?’ I said, the thought of my mother setting my nerves on edge.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Theresa said flatly, ‘but she never left.’

  My gaze fell on the living-room door, as if I had expected her to make an appearance. But I knew from the tone of Theresa’s voice that it was not likely to happen. I had not wanted to believe what my father had hinted at all these years, that the real reason he had built the bench at the foot of the oak tree was because he needed a place to visit my mum. I hadn’t been digging a vegetable patch the day Luke came to challenge me. I’d long suspected that there was more to Mum’s disappearance than either Dad or my older sister were letting on. It felt like there was some sort of conspiracy between them and, over the years, I’d grabbed on to the one explanation that made sense. I was finally confronting my secret fear that my mother had been buried on the land adjoining our house all along. Mum’s leaving had been so sudden, coinciding with Theresa’s departure shortly afterwards. I hadn’t wanted even to consider the thought that she was no longer alive, but the way Dad behaved gave me plenty of cause for concern – and doubt. The missed birthdays, the Christmases that passed without a word, I couldn’t help but wonder why Mum had not got in touch. Sometimes I silenced the niggles, but when Dad became ill and we came back to Mersea, I could no longer ignore my suspicions. The faraway look in his eyes, his mumbled regrets in his last days before he passed away, all conspired to give me no choice: I had to unearth the truth, once and for all. ‘She’s dead, isn’t she?’ The words came out as a whisper. ‘He buried her next to the tree.’

  The glint in Theresa’s eye cast a chilling reminder. I had seen that look many times in my youth, and her resemblance to Mum caught me off guard. ‘It was the day Dad said she left,’ Theresa recounted, unable to meet my gaze. ‘Mum had been drinking and she was in one of her moods.’

  ‘I remember,’ I said, clawing back the image from the bowels of my memory. ‘She caught me bingeing and shoved my head down the toilet to teach me a lesson. Then Dad came home and he sent me to my room.’

  ‘I’d just come in when their argument kicked off,’ Theresa said, her fingers tightly clasped around each other. ‘Dad’s arms were all scratched from where Mum had attacked him, and next thing I knew she was going for him with a knife. She would have killed him . . . He . . . he had no choice.’

  ‘No,’ I said, bringing my fist to my mouth as the pain and fear of that day came back all over again. My bravado left me. I wasn’t ready for the truth. ‘I don’t want to hear it. Please, don’t say any more.’ I tried to turn away but Theresa rose from the table with me, gripping my forearm and gently stilling my movements.

  ‘I can’t leave it there, not now. We need to get this out in the open so we can both move on with our lives. Surely you had your suspicions?’

  I sighed, feeling something shift from deep inside. The clues were there. I remembered what she had been like that night. It was their wedding anniversary and Dad had been gone all day. But regardless of her behaviour, she did not deserve to die. ‘Did she . . . suffer?’

  Theresa shook her head. ‘It was an accident. Mum launched herself at Dad just as he turned to leave. I saw the glint of a knife in her hand and screamed at her to stop. Dad pushed he
r away to defend himself, but she was drunk and stumbled.’ Her eyes turned to the living-room door, to the real reason she could not bear to be in this house. ‘She fell on her knife. Within seconds she was dead.’ She paused, the memory of that awful day etched on her face. ‘I wanted to call an ambulance, but it was too late by then. We had two choices. Call the police and risk Dad being falsely accused of murder, or cover it up.’

  ‘I . . . I don’t believe it,’ I stuttered, yet somewhere inside, I knew it was true.

  ‘Dad was covered in scratches. The police might not have believed it was self-defence. He did what he had to do, to keep the family together. Do you remember? How I stayed with you for ages, telling you everything would be OK?’ Theresa sniffed as a tear trickled down her face. ‘You were playing some God-awful music to drown out the sounds of their argument.’

  ‘Pink Floyd,’ I mumbled, remembering how she had come into my room and reassured me. There was an edge to her voice that had made me scared that day. Now I knew why.

  ‘I never knew where he buried her . . . until he was dying. He told me he was scared. Scared to die because Mum would be waiting for him.’ Her fingers relaxed on my arm. ‘Then he said it was my fault, that I shouldn’t have got involved.’ She shook her head. ‘I think he was trying to pass on the blame before he died. Writing me out of the will just reinforced it.’

  ‘And you’re sure she didn’t suffer?’ I said numbly.

  ‘No,’ Theresa said softly, plump tears gathering in her eyes. ‘It all happened so fast.’

  ‘It was an accident,’ I whispered. ‘You should have told me. You didn’t need to shoulder this on your own.’

  ‘I waited for the right moment but it never came. Dad paid me off. He couldn’t bear to look at me because I knew the truth. I was scared you’d feel the same way about me too.’

  ‘That’s crazy,’ I said. ‘I remember what Mum was like. That day when she shoved my head down the toilet, I thought I was going to drown. Dad should never have let things get that far.’

  ‘He never was very good with confrontation.’ A bitter laugh escaped Theresa’s lips. ‘You know, I used to lie in bed at night, thinking about Mum. I wanted to see her one last time. But then I look around this house and realise she never left. She’s in the floor, in the walls. She’s waiting for a peaceful burial in a marked grave. Dad couldn’t bring himself to do it but I can.’

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

  EMMA

  2013

  I frowned in irritation at the knock on the door. ‘Blooming postman,’ I muttered. ‘Can’t I get a minute’s peace?’ Snapping shut my laptop, I rose to answer the insistent rap. Alex had finally gone to work and I had snatched a spare moment to research a subject that had been banned from discussion. Lately all I could think about was getting pregnant. I reminded myself to delete all trace of my visits to the sperm-donor website when I was done.

  As I twisted the door latch, my breath stilled at the sight of the bright-yellow bouquet of flowers before me. ‘Luke,’ I said, my breath cut short at the sight of my old teacher. I gripped the door, preparing to slam it in my unwanted visitor’s face.

  A bemused smile crossed his face. ‘Now, Emma, is that any way to treat an old friend?’ He had aged since my school days but was every bit as intimidating. Dressed in a shirt and trousers, his style had hardly changed from when we first met.

  I had thought about this moment many times, and what I would say if I saw him again. But now that he was here, I struggled to find the words. ‘What do you want?’ I said, a sudden rush of dread like ice flooding my veins. ‘My husband will be back any minute.’

  ‘We both know that’s not true,’ he replied, pushing past me into the hall. His voice trailed behind him as he let himself into my home. ‘I thought you could do with some cheering up, after your dad dying. He made the nationals, you know; a big name in the archaeology world.’

  ‘I . . . I didn’t say you could come in,’ I stammered, following him into my kitchen. I rubbed my neck, the ghost of his breath still heavy on my face.

  He rested the flowers on the table, as if he knew his way around. He said something about a reunion, and I realised he had a bottle of red wine in his other hand. I couldn’t get over his gall. After everything he’d said about me stalking him, he’d turned up at my house like nothing had happened.

  ‘I want you to leave,’ I said, reversing against the kitchen counter. Luke advanced upon me, the tang of his aftershave assailing my nostrils. His eyes were intense, carrying the flame of a long-buried anger.

  ‘Don’t be like that,’ he said, his icy-cold smile freezing me to the core. ‘I thought we could have a drink together. I just want to clear the air, take some responsibility for how things turned out between us.’

  My chest tightened as my memory of our shared past re-emerged. I thought of our last meeting in the beach hut, when he had forced me across the table and threatened to hurt me if I didn’t back off. But it had not stopped me. Because of my actions, Luke had lost his job. But why now? After all these years, had he only just discovered it was me who was responsible for his dismissal? His excuse for wanting to patch things up almost seemed reasonable, had it not been for that cold glint in his eye. ‘You sent the sunflowers after Dad’s funeral too,’ I said, the words a whisper on my lips.

  ‘Of course. Aren’t you lucky, getting another bunch? Aren’t you going to put them in water?’ he said, looking me up and down. I wished I was wearing jeans and a jumper instead of the blouse and skirt I had chosen that morning.

  I was glad of the excuse to turn my back on his gaze. I never thought I would hear Luke finally admit the truth, that a tiny piece of him enjoyed pulling my strings.

  I swallowed to clear my throat, placing the vase of flowers on the side. ‘Life goes on,’ I said. ‘I just want to forget about it now.’ I watched his every move as he prowled around my kitchen, his eyes never leaving mine.

  ‘Do you remember little Sophie Smith? It was strange, how someone tipped off her parents about the night we arranged to meet,’ he said, tracing his finger over the backs of the chairs where Alex and I sat to eat. ‘Why would anyone be so vindictive?’

  ‘Things were different back then,’ I said. ‘As you said, it’s time to move on.’

  ‘It’s a good idea in theory.’ He smiled. ‘But then some of us find it easier than others. Got a good job, have you? A husband, a nice home. Seeing that photo in the paper of you at your father’s funeral really stirred things up for me. Made me wonder how far you’d come.’

  My lips thinned as I failed to form a response. His mood was darkening and I was too scared I’d say the wrong thing. My eyes trailed to the knife block, but I tore them away as he caught my gaze.

  ‘Forget about the drinks. Why don’t we continue this conversation in the lounge?’ he said, swiping at my arm.

  ‘No.’ Squirming from his grip I made it to the back door. ‘If you won’t leave then I will.’

  ‘Fine, make a run for it,’ Luke said as I twisted the key to release the lock. ‘I’ll just wait here until your husband gets home. Alex, isn’t it? Perhaps he’ll give me a warmer welcome.’ His lips widened in a smile. ‘I’m sure he’d love to hear about your school days. Does he know what a little goer he’s married to? Gagging for it at the age of fifteen?’

  ‘I’ll deny everything. He won’t believe you,’ I said, standing with my back to the door.

  But Luke was quick to respond, with a speech he no doubt had practised many times before. ‘He’ll believe the police,’ he said, advancing upon me. ‘I still have the copy of the harassment order against you. And then there’s that video footage of the time you broke into my room. Shameless, you were. What were you thinking when you were lying on my bed?’

  He rested his hand on mine, forcing my fingers to lock the back door once again. His skin was icy cold and I shuddered beneath his touch.

  ‘I thought after I last saw you that I could let things lie. But we have a history, you an
d I,’ he said, coaxing this time. ‘Unfinished business.’

  I cursed my inability to stand up to him. Suddenly he was the one calling the shots. ‘I . . .’ I broke off, desperately trying to find the courage to finish my sentence.

  ‘You want to put all that behind us? Is that what you’re trying to say?’ he interrupted, his face pressed close to mine. ‘You see I want to forgive you, but I just can’t move on. There’s an outstanding debt between us. I made a promise and I feel it only fair I carry it out.’ He turned his head, his eyes roaming around my recently inherited home. ‘I’ve not had things as easy as you. It’s hard to get a job without a decent reference to my name.’

  ‘What do you want?’ I asked. ‘Money? I’ve got a couple of hundred pounds I can give you, if you promise to leave me alone.’

  A sly grin marred his features. ‘Now we both know it’s not money I’m after.’ Reaching behind me, he pulled the clip from my hair and just like before, allowed it to swing free. ‘This is what I want,’ he said, his hands cupping my shoulders. ‘You. Now. Once more, for old time’s sake. Then I’ll walk away from here and you won’t see me again.’

  ‘And if I don’t?’ I said, my heart thundering in my chest. I knew I should run away. Grab my phone and call for help. But my limbs felt like lead, my body frozen under his spell. I could not bear for him to tell Alex the sort of person I was. The sort of person that people walked away from. I couldn’t allow the past to infect my happy home. I caught sight of my laptop and my thoughts raced as I recalled what I had been researching just moments before. Sex with Luke would last just minutes, and there was no love involved. I had pinpointed my fertility cycle and knew I was ovulating today. I turned over the idea creeping into my head. Perhaps something good could be salvaged out of all this mess. It was not like I was being unfaithful. I loved my husband. A baby would make our marriage complete, and with Luke out of my life for good there would be nothing to threaten our happiness.