by Jane Shemilt
‘He said it was our special secret and that Mum would commit suicide if she knew.’ A tear trickles down Izzy’s cheek – Izzy, who never cries. ‘He said I’d have to go to some special place for kids.’
‘But you’re telling us now because …?’
‘He’s tried to hurt Sorrel and he’ll try again with someone else.’ Izzy leans forward, her face flushing a brighter pink. ‘He likes girls when they’re little. Sorrel’s six, like I was at the beginning.’ Her words tumble out fast as if she’s been waiting a long time to deliver them.
Melissa can’t see Paul’s face any more, it’s buried in his hands.
‘Do you have any actual evidence of your father’s violence?’ The barrister’s voice is quiet.
‘My mum’s sitting somewhere in court – look at her face. It probably doesn’t count, but that’s his doing too.’
Heads turn. Melissa tries not to cringe. The bruises have faded by now but the line on her cheek where the skin was torn remains as an uneven pink scar. The repair was good but the puckering is obvious. She holds herself very still. She had tried to shield Izzy from what Paul did to her, but she must have known all the time. She wants to get up and run to her daughter, but she has to wait a few more minutes.
The barrister is speaking again, heads swivel back. ‘Thank you, Isabelle,’ she says, then she turns and bows to the district judge. ‘I have no more questions.’ She sits down; her silk shirt has become untucked, the immaculate grey bob a little disordered. The judge begins to talk – something about reconvening and more evidence – she doesn’t catch most of what he says; her mind is so full of Izzy. After a few minutes he leaves the court. Then the whispers start and get louder, waves advancing up the pebbly beach with force. Melissa gathers her coat and her bag. She wants to go to her daughter as soon as she can, so she misses the moment when Paul might have looked for her, seeing only the door close behind him and the accompanying officer.
Izzy is standing just inside the room across the corridor. She looks different from the girl on the screen; in fact, Melly has never seen Izzy like this. She seems much younger suddenly, very lost. She is staring around in fear, as if she has found herself in the middle of a wood having gone too far and doesn’t have a clue how to get out. She’s no longer performing for the court; she isn’t burning with anger. She’s not a confident teenager any more, but simply a frightened little girl who has suffered for years. This reality breaks against Melly with the force of an icy wave, but she mustn’t drown; her daughter needs her more than ever now. The witness protection woman has her arm around Izzy and is murmuring something about her being very brave, but Izzy doesn’t seem to be listening. When she catches sight of Melissa, her face relaxes; she runs to her mother and wraps her arms round her. Melissa lowers her head to her daughter’s.
‘Excuse me, Mrs Chorley-Smith.’ The solicitor has followed her from the court, the tired woman whom Melissa had felt sorry for.
Melissa looks up. ‘I have to take my daughter home now. This has been a huge strain for her.’
‘I’ll be quick. In the next few days, Izzy will be called for an interview at a police station by female police officers in the forensics team.’ She lowers her voice. ‘She may need to undergo physical examination.’ Then she nods briskly. ‘The trial will be reconvened when all the evidence will be considered together.’
‘Will she have to attend that trial?’
‘Fortunately not. The whole process could take many months; the kidnapping and abuse trials are likely to be joined. Izzy’s presence at the resulting trial won’t be required.’ She looks weary, there’s more work for her to do now. She walks rapidly away.
Izzy lifts her head when the solicitor is out of sight. Her eyes well. ‘I’m sorry, Mummy, I’m really sorry.’
‘It’s me who should be sorry, my little sweetheart. If only I’d opened your door in the evenings, if only I’d come with you on your trips abroad …’ She mustn’t start crying, she has to be strong for Izzy. It’s just her and Izzy now.
‘At least he won’t hurt you any more,’ Izzy says through her tears.
‘Or you, my darling girl.’ Melissa kisses her cheek.
As they begin to descend the steps, Melissa’s arm around Izzy, a dark blue van sweeps past them with a small barred window at the back, high up. Paul could be inside. His head might be in his hands as he tries to comprehend the speed at which the world he knew has disappeared. She watches the van weave into the traffic, halt at the lights, pull away and vanish from sight round a corner. Melissa’s arm tightens around Izzy. They walk down the rest of the steps, clasped tightly together and stumbling a little.
Eve
Sorrel is better, physically better; she has begun to speak a few words and she even smiles sometimes. Dr Power, the young paediatrician in the outpatient clinic, is very pleased with her progress. She examines Sorrel with care, checking her reflexes and the back of her eyes. Eve watches the doctor, envious of her energy, her shining hair and luminous skin, conscious she has aged years in recent months. Her own hair is stringy, there are new lines on her face. Her nails are bitten down. She is tired all the time, even in the morning, even after sleep. The doctor smiles and pats Sorrel’s hand.
‘You are a brave girl, Sorrel; I don’t need to see you for another three months.’
‘Thank you, Doctor.’ Eve wants to hug her.
‘Call me Marian.’ The doctor has a wide smile, a scattering of freckles. ‘Sorrel has done better than we could have hoped.’ She leaves with a spring in her step, happy at this outcome, having no knowledge of the ripples of destruction that have spread outwards or of the lives that have been twisted into different shapes.
Sorrel is exhausted after the appointment. Eve hurries her over the busy road in the rain to the car parked opposite, and swiftly settles her into her car seat. Sorrel’s eyes close almost immediately. Eve’s mobile rings as she is getting into the driver’s seat.
‘What did the doctor say?’ Grace asks.
‘She was pleased,’ Eve whispers. ‘Sorrel’s making good progress, physically. The child psychologist is coming this afternoon.’ Eve watches an ambulance swerve into the hospital. It’s lucky that you can’t see into an ambulance from the outside; that desperate struggle to save a life should be private. She turns away from the flashing blue light, the phone tight to her ear. ‘Any news?’
‘Melly phoned this morning.’ Grace leaves a little pause like the one doctors give you before they break bad news.
‘Go on.’
‘Are you somewhere you can sit down?’
‘I’m sitting down already.’
As Grace begins to speak, Eve watches the rain hit against the windscreen and the traffic splash by but she doesn’t hear any of it. The noises from the street have faded, everything has faded apart from the words she is hearing. Paedophiles make up eight per cent of the population, information gleaned from Google when Sorrel was missing, not easy to forget. A young bloke with a ponytail speeds by on his bike – could he be a paedophile? Or the guy in a suit hurrying past with a briefcase? That old man shuffling to the bus? Paul was a charmer, handsome, amusing, she had liked him; how could they have possibly known?
‘… then Izzy told the court he’d hurt Melly,’ Grace is continuing. ‘The scar on her face is still obvious; things like that can tip the balance.’
Paul might have hit Sorrel too, at the very least he must have terrified her. A few moments pass while Eve treads down horror. She glances in the driving mirror; Sorrel is still fast asleep.
‘How is Melly?’ she manages. ‘I haven’t seen her for weeks.’
‘Better than you’d think,’ Grace tells her. ‘She’s stepped up, like you.’
‘Izzy?’
‘That child’s made of steel. I’ve had my issues with Izzy but I understand her better now. Melly’s going to make sure she gets the help she needs.’
There is another little pause; there’s so much Eve wants to say to Grace, it’s ha
rd to know where to begin: her gratitude, the guilt, the lasting regret, the value of her friendship.
‘Grace …’
‘Take care.’ Then Grace is gone.
Sorrel’s thumb has slipped from her mouth; she is snoring lightly. The thought of her daughter in Paul’s hands is obscene. She had guessed the moment she saw the tiara in his car, but guessing is different from knowing; imagining is different from seeing, and she can see Paul clearly now, see the look on his face as he forced Sorrel into the boot of his car, then into the chest in his shed. Eve shudders. The doctors had said there was no evidence of sexual abuse. Her gaze lingers on the sweet, sleeping face of her daughter; she’s been incredibly unlucky, and also, lucky.
Eve starts the car. Grace was good to let her know; she couldn’t have managed so much of this without her. Somewhere along the way Grace has found it in her heart to forgive her and save their friendship. She should reach out to Melly in turn, it’s time she did. While Sorrel is playing with Noah after lunch she finds Melly’s number on her phone; they talk for an hour until the child psychologist arrives mid-afternoon and she has to go.
Dr Irving is a woman in her sixties with thick grey hair and eyes that tilt downwards. Sorrel stares at her silently.
‘I hope you’ll tell me your favourite games and then we can play them together.’
Sorrel moves closer to Eve; she doesn’t reply to any of Dr Irving’s gentle suggestions. In the end Dr Irving reads her a story, pointing out the pictures, though most of the time Sorrel’s eyes are closed.
Afterwards she walks with Dr Irving to her car, listening intently to her quiet voice. ‘This will be a long road. At the moment Sorrel is repressing all memories. When she recovers mentally as well as physically, she may start to get odd flashes, triggered by something in the environment perhaps. That could be very frightening for her. Be alert and stay with her. It’s always possible she could be overwhelmed by a sudden flood of memories, though in reality that’s rare.’
‘What should we do to support her?’
‘Give her space. Let the memories come if they do, but don’t seek them out.’ She pats Eve’s arm. ‘She’s doing as well as we could expect at this stage. I’ll see you next week.’
Later Eve tells Eric what Grace has relayed. Eric’s face darkens; he gets up and stares out of the window into the dark garden. ‘Sorrel would have been safe if I hadn’t worked for Paul and introduced the family. It’s my fault.’
‘Melly might have found me through Facebook like Grace did; Paul could have targeted us just the same. It’s definitely not your fault.’ She pours a glass of beer and takes it to him. ‘It’s not Melly’s either. She has suffered too, more than we know. I was hoping you wouldn’t mind if I ask her and Izzy to come and stay with us for a while.’
‘You can’t be serious.’
‘Izzy told Poppy she can’t sleep in her house, too many memories. I doubt if Melly can either.’ She touches his sleeve. ‘Sorrel’s getting better. We can be kind, can’t we?’
‘Let’s see what Sorrel says.’
They’re having supper in the kitchen later when Eve mentions the possibility of Izzy and her mother staying for a while. Something flickers across Sorrel’s face.
‘Izzy?’ She sounds confused.
‘She used to come here for lessons, my darling. She played with you and Poppy.’
‘She’s my best friend,’ Poppy puts in, helping herself and Sorrel to more mashed potato.
‘Oh.’ Sorrel’s face clears, she nods. ‘Okay.’
Eve catches Eric’s eye across the table, he gives a little shrug. She nods and smiles at Poppy who high-fives her sister.
‘I’m glad we’re able to do something that makes Poppy happy for once,’ she murmurs to Eric as they clear the table later. ‘It’s been incredibly tough for her.’
He doesn’t reply but he seldom does these days; she takes his silence as agreement and texts Melly later. Her acceptance comes back swiftly.
Grace
‘I don’t have to go,’ Martin whispers, though they’re outside and no one can hear. ‘There will be other sabbaticals, they come up all the time.’
They’ve been over this; he wants her blessing. If this is a game he’s playing, she’s fed up with it.
‘Of course you have to go. Go,’ Grace tells him.
‘I haven’t actually signed anything.’
‘You gave them your word.’
‘I guess the money will be useful.’
‘Useful?’ Grace stares at him. ‘It’ll be more than we’ve ever had.’
‘So take a few months off, you could write. You’ve always wanted to, we can afford it now.’ Martin smiles at her, the old melting smile. ‘Or better still, change your mind and come with me.’ He reaches to touch her hand but she tucks it under her arm. It’s cold out here on Eve’s veranda, away from listening ears. ‘You know the children would love it.’
‘If you need my permission to go, you’ve got it.’
‘That’s not what I meant. I don’t want to spend a year without you.’
‘We’re staying put, you know that.’
They look down at the playground below the veranda; the bright colours look garish in the weak March sunshine. The door of the little house has come off its hinges and someone has broken a window.
‘Will you tell the kids?’ he asks hopefully.
‘It’s your sabbatical, you do it.’
‘So I’m not forgiven?’
‘Come on, you two.’ Melissa calls through the door. ‘Teatime.’
There are seven candles on the cake. Sorrel sits in the chair at the top of the table, a paper hat on her head, a little crown of flimsy red tissue paper. Forensics kept the tiara, Eve didn’t want it back. Sorrel is smiling, Noah’s head resting on her lap; Charley is on one side, Poppy the other. Izzy, next to Poppy. Charley has Venus on her lap.
Eric distributes tea and sits down next to Blake who passes him a piece of cake.
‘Thanks for your help,’ Eric says. ‘Nice work.’
Blake’s cheeks redden. He takes an enormous bite of cake.
‘What help?’ Martin asks.
‘Blake’s pruned a heck of a lot of trees,’ Eric says, smiling at Blake. ‘He’s a great worker.’
Poppy walks around the table, serving out more birthday cake. Melissa takes a bite; Grace wants to cheer though she knows she mustn’t.
Eve looks at her daughter. ‘Happy birthday, darling.’
Sorrel looks around uncertainly as if searching for somebody who isn’t there: Ash, maybe Paul as well, the ghosts of the dead and living seem to hover. Eve is a ghost too, thinner, paler. She sits completely still at the table, staring at her daughters, forgetting to eat. Eric is next to her but they don’t talk to each other, another wounded couple who may not make it through.
‘How’s Izzy doing?’ Grace asks Melly later as they stack the dishwasher after tea. Izzy is playing cards with her friends out of earshot.
‘Really well.’ Melly straightens, pushes her hair out of her eyes and smiles.
‘And the new trial?’
‘That won’t be for ages and she doesn’t have to attend. She’s had two interviews with the forensic team.’
‘I bet that was tough.’
‘Not as tough as an examination would have been.’ Melissa’s voice sounds strained. ‘She refused that though and they didn’t push. They said if they did, she might experience it as another, well, as another assault. Any findings would have been minimal anyway; it’s been months since the last … incident took place.’
‘It’s great they were prepared to accept her story.’
‘The story is all they get in lots of cases like Izzy’s. And the school report helped; her grades were lower than expected and there’s been some antisocial behaviour which apparently fits; it’s hardly surprising when you think about it.’
‘How is she now?’ Grace glances across the room, where the children are playing together. Izzy’s he
ad is bent over the game.
‘So much better. She’s having counselling, we both are. I’m not allowed to know much, but her counsellor let slip she’s quite defended. I think that’s good; in my mind that means she’s a survivor.’
‘She gets that gene from you.’ Grace transfers the rest of the chocolate cake to the fridge but leaves one slice on a plate, nudging it along the draining board. ‘I think you’re the strongest of all of us, Melly.’
Melissa flushes with pleasure. She looks younger these days; her face is rounder and she keeps her hair loose. She doesn’t wear those tight little scarves any more.
‘He says she needs peace, no upheavals.’ Melly begins to eat the cake.
You do too, Grace thinks to herself, that wretched man. ‘Have you found a buyer for the house yet?’
‘Three. Eve says we can stay as long as we like, but I’m looking for somewhere nearby. It shouldn’t take long.’
Izzy is dealing out cards to the other children. Every movement she makes seems careful. It’s as if someone is watching her or she is watching herself. That’s what it must have felt like with Paul all the time. Izzy puts her cards down and claps her hands; she’s won the round. She looks up and meets Grace’s gaze with a triumphant little smile; Grace smiles back. Melly was right, Izzy is a survivor.
Charley tells her mum that it’s been a really long time since there were any actual dyslexia lessons for Blake and the others, which is funny because that’s why they all made friends in the first place. She wasn’t even supposed to be there. Mum says they can’t possibly ask. Ash died less than six months ago, which is nothing. According to Mum, some people are sad forever when their children die. Poppy says she misses Ash really badly but she doesn’t want to talk to her parents in case it reminds them; Mum says they’ll be thinking about it all the time anyway. They see them almost every day. Charley gets that it’s been really hard for Izzy because of what her dad did and she can see that Izzy’s trying to be nice, but it still doesn’t make Charley like her much. She misses Dad, but not as much as she’d miss Mum to be honest. Dad slept with Eve, which puts her off both of them, though Blake says to get over it. He thinks Mum has. Charley doesn’t think she has, quite.