by Jill Childs
Forty-Three
I used the books as an excuse to get Megan to come round to see me, one evening the following week.
She appeared on the doorstep, soon after eight, her face drawn, peering at me through a bunch of sweetheart roses – a swarm of yellow, pink and red.
‘For me?’ I took them and kissed her on the cheek, ushered her indoors. ‘You shouldn’t have.’
It had been a while since I’d seen her. She hadn’t been over to visit us since the night Ralph disappeared. Fear of my grief kept her away, I’d decided. The embarrassment of knowing the right thing to say when in fact there was nothing to say, nothing at all.
She was still only sixteen, but she seemed older, standing here in the hall. A young woman almost ready to leave home. She was wearing a light cotton jacket over low-slung jeans and a cropped top that lifted when she moved to expose a flat, tight stomach.
She’d changed in other ways too. Her hair, always so neatly bobbed, looked straggly and ready for a good wash. Her cheeks were hollowed and there were dark circles under her eyes.
I led her through and busied myself with the flowers, finding a vase, cutting the stems and arranging them, then poured us both a glass of water. I didn’t say anything about it, not yet, but I could see exactly why Bea was worried. Megan had a nervy jumpiness to her that I’d never seen before. Something was clearly on her mind.
She always used to seem very much at home here. Last year, before her schoolwork picked up, she used to babysit for us about once a month, if I had a school meeting or a talk to attend. Ralph could never be trusted not to let me down. The previous year, when she was only fourteen and the girls had just started in reception, Megan came by with them sometimes after school, spreading out her books on the kitchen table and munching biscuits while she tackled her homework, as Clara and Anna played in the sitting room. She liked to chat to me – liked the idea that we were two adults, able to see eye to eye, while the little ones played.
Now, she perched on the edge of a kitchen chair, her body listless.
I sat down too, my hands nursing my warm cup.
‘So, getting excited about Edinburgh? It must take the pressure off, knowing you’ve already got an offer.’
She nodded, her eyes pinned to a spot on the kitchen floor. ‘I still need to pass.’
I smiled to myself. She’d been predicted stellar results. It was hard to see how she’d fail to get the grades she needed.
‘You sound a bit worried.’
She lifted a hand and scratched behind her ear. ‘I am. Exams start next week.’
I nodded. ‘But you’ve worked hard, Megan. You’ll be fine. Don’t you think?’
She pulled a face and squirmed on her chair. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Mum doesn’t get it. She keeps saying, what are you worrying about? You know your stuff. But that’s not it. I just can’t concentrate.’
‘When’s your first exam?’
‘Tuesday.’ She sounded panicked. ‘English lit. It should be a doddle. It’s all in there’ – she tapped her head – ‘or at least it was… but when I try to focus, to go through quotes and essay stuff, I can’t remember. It’s all blank.’ Her hands plucked at each other in her lap. ‘What if I’m like that in the exam? What if I fail?’
I sat, watching her. ‘Maybe you need some rest? I know it’s easy to say, but maybe you need to relax a bit.’
She sat very still, her eyes downcast. The house was oppressive with silence. We might be the only people left in the world. I looked at her nails, chewed at the corners, at the tension in her face.
I smiled. ‘I’ve got something for you. Did your mum say?’
For the first time, her eyes lifted and flicked across to look at me. ‘Not exactly…’
I got to my feet. ‘Well, don’t get your hopes up, but I’ve been doing some clearing out. There were a few things I thought you might like.’
I led her up the stairs to Ralph’s study. She hesitated in the doorway, looking round, taking it all in. The boxes, neatly labelled, along the wall. The pile of books on his desk. His chair. She bit her lip.
‘Is this where he worked?’
I nodded. ‘He used to read in here. And do his marking.’ I turned to her, smiling. ‘He probably marked some of your essays in here, over the years.’
‘And his poetry? Did he write that here too?’ Her voice was tight.
‘Sometimes. More often, sitting on the floor over there.’ I pointed to the radiator in the corner and pictured him there, his back against it, his knees drawn up, hunched over a pad of paper, his hair falling forward. A glass of wine by his elbow. In the zone.
I was so proud of his writing, when we had first met. When he first wrote about me, about his love for me, his poetry seemed such a precious gift.
Things changed, first between us, then in the poetry too. The writing became restless, as he did. Poems about unfulfilled longing, about escape. And then, finally, about his passion, thinly disguised, for other women. He seemed to think he had the right to betray me publicly in poetry. An artist’s right. It was about him, after all, this poetry. About his ego, his needs. There was no loyalty in it. That was when I stopped going to his events to hear him read.
I picked up the pile of books I’d set aside for Megan.
‘I’m giving away most of his things, but I just wondered… these seemed worth keeping.’ I handed them to her. ‘If you wanted them? I’m sure Ralph would be pleased for you to have them.’
She looked over them, one book at a time, going through the motions of opening each volume and scanning the contents, flicking through the pages, stopping here and there to run her eye down a particular poem or quotation. One or two still bore Ralph’s flamboyant signature on the flyleaf and I saw her pause and stare at it, as if she were spooked by the idea of taking a dead man’s possessions.
I put my hand on her arm. She was trembling.
‘Don’t take them if you don’t really want them. It’s fine. Honestly.’
We left the books where they were and trooped back to the kitchen to sit again at the table. Again, she focussed on the floor, avoiding my eye. This silence was so unlike her. I watched, trying to understand.
It was all wrong between us and I didn’t know why. She was so withdrawn, just as Bea had described. I’d always been her friend. We’d got along easily. I’d always kept her confidences when she’d confided in me – worries about boyfriends, best friends, schoolwork. I’d never betray her, and she knew it. Her secrets were safe with me.
‘Is it the books? Have I upset you?’ I spoke quietly. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘It’s not that.’ Her voice was hard with emotion, as if it hurt her to get out the words.
The kitchen clock ticked down the silence.
Finally, I said, ‘What is it, Megan?’
A shadow passed over her face. ‘I don’t want to talk about it, okay? Just stop asking! You’re as bad as Mum.’
I reached out a hand to her, soothing. ‘It’s fine. Look, forget it.’
I opened my arms to her and she pressed herself into them and clung to me. Soon, her body started to heave with hard, dry sobs, her face against my neck. I put my arms around her and held her tightly, as I might hold Anna, stroking her hair with one hand and pressing her to me with the other.
‘Sssh, Megan. I’m sorry,’ I whispered into her hair, trying to calm her. ‘I didn’t mean to pry. You just seem upset.’
She pulled away. ‘How can I tell you? I can’t tell anyone.’
I shook my head, looking at the distress in her eyes.
‘Why not? What is it, Megan?’
She withdrew from me altogether, leaving me with empty arms. ‘You’ll blame me.’
I blinked. ‘For what?’
She looked so guilty.
‘Oh, Megan.’ My heart stopped. ‘You’re not – you’re not pregnant, are you?’
‘Pregnant?’ She looked horrified. ‘No! Why would you even think that?’
&
nbsp; I blew out my cheeks. ‘I don’t know. I just thought, maybe, a new boyfriend…’
She glared at me.
I hesitated, feeling my way. ‘Is that it? You’re seeing someone?’
‘I’m not seeing him.’ She retreated again, perching on a chair, her legs pulled up. She looked so young, hugging her knees. ‘I thought he was on my side, but he started saying stupid things. That he loved me. Needed me.’ She banged her hand on the table as if she couldn’t bear it, as if she couldn’t hold it in any longer. ‘He said it was all my fault – that I’d led him on. But I didn’t! I just… I never thought he’d get so weird.’
I tried to piece all this together. ‘Can you tell me who he is?’
‘No.’
I took a deep breath. ‘Okay. Can you tell me what happened? How far did it go?’
She flushed. ‘We didn’t…’ Her shock made her seem terribly young. Terribly innocent, after all. ‘He just, you know, he tried.’
‘Tried?’
She shuddered and fixed her eyes on the tabletop and the fingers picking at each other there. Her voice became mechanical. ‘He took me for a drink one evening. Mum doesn’t know.’
I didn’t move, frightened of breaking her flow.
‘It was a while ago. I’d just got my offer from Edinburgh.’ Her face contorted with shame. ‘He didn’t force me to have a drink. I wanted to. I was happy.’
I kept my voice even. ‘So, you went for a drink?’
‘He drove me to a pub, miles away. It was really quiet. I’d never been there before.’
I bit my lip. ‘Then what happened?’
She swallowed hard. ‘He went to the bar and came back with a whole bottle of wine but he only had one glass because he was driving.’ She paused. ‘I couldn’t manage the rest, not all of it, but it didn’t feel polite…’
She trailed off. I tried not to show how angry I was, not with her but with him, for being so manipulative.
‘So, you were pretty light-headed by the time he took you home?’
She nodded miserably.
‘And then what?’
She grimaced. ‘He parked in the next street from ours and I said goodbye and tried to get out but the doors were locked and then he leaned over and—’
She broke off.
I closed my eyes, picturing it even as I struggled not to. ‘And what?’
‘He held me down and kissed me. It was gross.’ She shuddered. ‘He stuck his tongue down my throat. I couldn’t breathe. Then he put his hand on my leg and he tried to slide it further up and I grabbed it to stop him. He only stopped when I got hold of his hair and yanked it. I kept telling him to stop. He looked so surprised and sort of hurt. He said how much he liked me and he thought I felt the same way and why didn’t we go out again, he’d take me somewhere special next time.’
Silence. I thought about Anna, asleep upstairs, and what I’d do if some boy tried the same moves on her when she was older.
Megan’s lip puckered as she started to cry again. ‘I felt so stupid! He must have thought I was such a baby… I didn’t mean to make him angry, I really didn’t. I always liked him. I just didn’t like him like that.’
‘And was that it? That one time?’
I opened my eyes to watch her. She was rummaging in her sleeve for a tissue to wipe off her face and runny nose.
‘Kind of. He kept texting. Saying he was sorry and, like, please can I see you? Just once. Just to explain. I didn’t know what to do.’
‘So what did you do?’
‘Nothing. I didn’t answer. I deleted them and pretended it hadn’t happened. I kept out of his way.’
I thought, it could have been worse. Thank goodness she had such good sense. Thank goodness she’d pushed him off.
‘Is he still pestering you?’
Her eyes were fixed again on the floor.
‘Is this why you can’t concentrate?’
‘I can’t stop thinking about it.’ Her hands trembled. ‘Maybe I really hurt him. What if he meant all the things he said, that he couldn’t bear to live without me?’
‘Oh, Megan.’ I reached forward and clasped her hot hands in mine. ‘From what you’ve said, he sounds like a nasty piece of work. You did nothing wrong. In fact, you did exactly the right thing.’
She lifted her red-rimmed eyes to mine. ‘Really?’
‘Really.’ I looked into her eyes and spoke clearly and calmly. ‘Megan, you’ve done nothing to feel bad about. Absolutely nothing.’
She looked beseeching. ‘I never meant—’
‘I know. I can see that.’
Something relaxed in her face as relief hit home. Poor Megan. Had she carried this guilt for months, since her offer from Edinburgh came through? I felt badly. I’d been so caught up with my own problems, maybe I hadn’t noticed hers.
I forced myself to smile. ‘Here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to let go of all this now. Right? For me. All you need to think about is your exams. And afterwards, you’re going to go out into the world and have an amazing year away before university. I’ll help you persuade your mum. She’ll come round. But in the meantime, clear all this from your mind and focus on your work. Can you do that?’
She blew her nose and managed a weak smile. ‘I’ll try.’
‘That reminds me. Sit there a moment. I’ve got something for you.’
I hurried up to my bedroom, found my chequebook and wrote her the biggest cheque I could afford.
Downstairs, I hid it behind my back.
‘Put your hands out. Go on. Eyes closed.’
She stuck out her hands, too tired to be excited. I laid the folded cheque across her palms and folded her fingers round it.
‘Okay. You can look now.’
Her eyes popped when she read the amount.
I said, ‘This is between us. Put it in the bank and don’t tell your mum. Promise?’
She tore her eyes away from the cheque and looked at me. ‘I can’t… I mean, it’s too much.’
‘You absolutely can. It’s for your year out, once we’ve persuaded your mum to let you go. She said you were a bit short.’ I smiled. ‘Think of it as an extra thank you for all the babysitting you’ve done.’
She tipped her head to look at me again, more hesitant now. ‘But you don’t have to—’
I shook my head. ‘You don’t know how much you’ve helped me, Megan. Now, we both need to get to bed. Shall I call you a cab?’
‘That’s okay. I’ll walk, thanks.’
She tucked the cheque into the inside pocket of her jacket and zipped it closed.
On the doorstep, she looked up the street, then hesitated. Her face clouded.
‘You okay, Megan?’
She stepped back into the hall. ‘That man. In the car.’
I peered past her at the saloon car further down the road, scraped along the side. Mike Ridge.
‘What about him?’
‘I don’t like him. He came to our house, asking questions. Mum said she’d already told the police everything and sent him packing.’
I nodded. I wondered why Bea hadn’t mentioned it.
‘And he came up to me in the street the other day. In town.’ She looked wary. ‘I wondered afterwards if, maybe, well… if he’d followed me.’
I looked up sharply. ‘What did he say?’
She squirmed. ‘He wanted to know if I’d been babysitting for you recently.’
‘What did you say?’
‘That I’d been over sometimes, for a bit of extra cash.’
My heart hammered. ‘And?’
‘He asked if I had a key to your place. A spare key. I said no.’
‘Well, you haven’t.’ I considered. ‘It’s your mum’s key, isn’t it? You just borrow it. So you didn’t lie.’
‘That’s what I thought.’ She went on. ‘He asked if you’d ever leave Anna on her own. I said no way, you’d never do that. Not even to pop to the shops like Mum might, if she’s desperate. You’re strict about s
afety.’
I nodded. ‘Good girl.’ She was bang on script, just as we’d discussed. ‘And?’
She steadied herself. ‘He asked if I knew anything at all about that night. You know. When Mr Wilson…’
I stiffened. ‘What did you say?’
‘I said no, of course.’ Her lip trembled. ‘But he seemed to know I was lying. What if he tells the police?’
She sagged forward and sank her face into cupped hands, close to tears again.
‘He won’t.’ I put my hand on her shoulder. ‘He’s just trying to rattle you.’ I lowered my voice to a whisper. ‘If you hadn’t come over that night, after I’d dashed out, how could I have kept looking for Ralph? I couldn’t have left Anna on her own all that time.’ I sighed. ‘I know I didn’t find him. But at least I tried.’
I took a deep breath. ‘And the texts you sent him, from my phone. If just one of them had reached him in time, it might have changed everything. I really believe that. We might have saved him, Megan. And it would have been thanks to you.’
She leaned into me and I stroked her hair and soothed her as if she were a much younger child. Her skin was warm and firm through her flimsy clothes, trembling as she pressed against me.
When she seemed calmer, I patted her back and drew away.
‘Better?’
She nodded. ‘I can’t thank you enough, Mrs Wilson. Honestly. For—’
I interrupted, pushing her out into the night, smiling as I spoke. ‘Enough. We’re even. And good luck in your exams. I’ll keep everything crossed.’
On my way upstairs, I went to check on Anna. She was splayed across her bed, one leg sticking at an odd angle out of the pink duvet, her arm wrapped around her pillow, her hair scattered. I lifted the stray leg and placed it gently back under the covers, then tucked it around her. She stirred and muttered.
‘It’s all right, sweetheart. Only Mummy. Off to sleep now.’
My own bed was cold. I curled in a ball, hunched on my side of the mattress as if Ralph were still there beside me, filling the rest.
I closed my eyes, but I couldn’t sleep, thinking about Megan and the man who’d preyed on her. She’d clearly been through Hell, weighed down by guilt for something that wasn’t her fault.