I looked away, p.25
I Looked Away, page 25
‘We’ll count to fifty, won’t we, Ellie?’
‘There’s only one rule,’ I add. ‘No one can go into the copse. There are too many trees there and someone might get lost.’
I glance at Peter. He seems to be reading my mind. The copse would be an ideal place for us to hide out in as long as Michael doesn’t go into it. He nods approvingly at me. A thrill runs down my spine.
‘OK,’ agrees Michael happily. ‘Come on, Ellie. We’ve got to count so Peter can get away.’ He reaches for my hand, his skin warm against mine. ‘One, two …’
49
Ellie
From my cell, I can see a small slide and a couple of swings for children who visit so they can keep contact with parents, grandparents, family and friends. I watch them with a terrible pain in my heart, remembering the times I used to take my two to the local playground. I’d made friends with a new mother who had moved to the village. Her children were almost the same age as Amy and Luke. She used to go with me and we’d watch as they all played on the rusty swings and slide. But after a while she asked too many questions and I stopped seeing her.
I didn’t bond with any of the other mums in the village either. This was a small rural community, where families tended to know everything about each other. My new acquaintances all had mothers willing to babysit and give advice. They seemed so much more confident than me.
In an effort to fit in, I joined the Women’s Institute but I only got to one meeting, because they were held in the evenings and Roger liked me to be home when he was. When I was invited on the annual outing to Woodstock, my husband was most put out. ‘What about the children?’ he’d asked. I didn’t like to point out that I was always with them every day and that he often came home late.
I spent most of my days trying to find things that the children enjoyed. I attempted to get them interested in wildflowers, as my mother had done with me, but when I caught Amy trying to eat the dandelion I was helping her to press, I panicked. They could be poisonous, according to the little notes my mother had written in her gardener’s handbook in that distinctive loopy writing of hers. So that was the end of that. Instead, we went for long walks whenever it was dry enough, or to the mobile library, which pulled up outside the village hall twice a month.
Sometimes we caught the bus into Oxford to look round the Ashmolean Museum. I loved it but the children got restless after a bit.
Occasionally I nodded across the fence at Jean, and we exchanged pleasantries, but that was it. I missed my neighbour’s company, but I couldn’t afford to upset Roger.
All I had to do was steel myself at night when his hands began to explore my body. Afterwards, he was nice to me unless he’d had too much to drink. Then he was sarcastic and cruel. ‘You don’t really like sex, do you, Ellie? What’s wrong with you?’
‘Nothing,’ I stuttered, but he just laughed nastily.
‘I knew you were naive when I met you but you didn’t let on that you were frigid.’
I winced with pain. Maybe if I’d explained, he might have understood. But I was too scared to come clean. So we limped on.
Then my husband announced he’d signed up for the squash club in college. One evening, he returned with his shirt inside out. ‘I had a shower afterwards,’ he explained. ‘Must have put it back on the wrong way.’
It seemed plausible enough and yet …
On another occasion, when we were sitting on the sofa watching a film while the children were (miraculously) both asleep, the phone rang. When I picked it up, it went silent.
‘That’s happened a few times recently,’ I said.
‘Really?’ That irritated look, which I knew all too well, flitted across Roger’s face. ‘We need to do something about cold calls. They’re an invasion of privacy.’
Then, one morning after Roger had left for a full day of teaching, came a package addressed to me. This was unusual. For a minute, my heart skipped, hoping it was finally in response to the one I’d sent all that time ago. But the postmark was local. I examined the bulky brown envelope with its typed capital letters.
I tore it open, unable to wait any longer to see what it contained. Out fell my husband’s college scarf; the tutors often wore them in solidarity with the students. Why would someone have posted it to me? Instinctively, I held it up to my face.
The perfume wasn’t mine.
All day, I told myself that it couldn’t be true. But Jean’s words kept haunting me even after all this time. In a car. Kissing a woman.
Turning a blind eye no longer seemed an option. I had to know the truth.
‘Oh yes,’ said Roger, when I showed it to him that night. ‘It’s just a silly prank. Some of my colleagues have never grown up.’
My heart soared with relief. He didn’t seem at all bothered. So it must be all right.
‘But why would they do that?’
‘Universities are full of politics. You ought to read David Lodge’s novels.’
Read? Hah! I didn’t have time for such a luxury. I was too busy and exhausted from looking after the children. I’d lost track of current affairs. In fact, I couldn’t remember when I’d last read a newspaper.
The day after, a similar brown envelope was pushed through the door. This time it contained two cinema stubs for the Odeon in Oxford for last Tuesday, which Roger told me was his squash night. Unease washed through me. ‘I didn’t see any film,’ said my husband when I told him. ‘And I wasn’t in the city centre either. If this happens again, maybe we should report it to the police. It’s harassment.’
‘Isn’t that a bit dramatic?’ I asked.
Roger shrugged. ‘You clearly don’t trust me. And if that’s what it will take for you to drop this, we should file an official complaint.’
‘Of course I trust you.’ I shivered. ‘It’s just that I’m scared. I don’t like the idea of some anonymous prankster sending me things like this.’
‘Nor do I, but the best thing to do is ignore it. Then whoever it is will get bored after a bit. Let’s leave it at that, shall we?’
So I didn’t bother reporting anything. For some weeks, nothing else happened. Then one day there was a knock at the door. A young woman stood there. Her cool green eyes studied mine as though she had a confidence far beyond her years. She seemed angry. ‘I sent you the scarf and the cinema tickets,’ she said in an Irish accent. ‘Since that seemed to have no effect, I thought I’d turn up in person in case you didn’t believe me. Here’s a little present for you.’
She handed me another brown envelope, walking away before I could shove it back at her. I opened it to find a photograph of her with Roger, their arms around each other. Both smiling at me. I felt sick. My mind went into a whirl. No. Please no. It didn’t prove anything, I told myself. It might just have been a college event. She was a student with a crush on him. But when I casually told Roger over supper that night, he went silent. My heart chilled.
‘OK,’ he said finally. ‘I admit it.’
‘What?’
I felt as though I was on a film set. This was happening to someone else. Not me.
‘She’s called Melanie and she wants us to be together.’
This can’t be true. ‘Do you … do you love her?’
He hesitated. ‘It’s serious,’ he said.
‘No!’ I heard myself sobbing. ‘What about the children? You can’t just walk out on us like this.’
‘She doesn’t want the house,’ Roger continued as if he hadn’t heard me. ‘She just wants me.’ He seemed flattered. ‘Unlike you. No. Don’t pretend. I can always tell when you’re faking it – that’s when you can be bothered to have sex at all.’
There was a sound from the children’s bedroom. ‘Daddee. Daddee. Story-eee.’
‘See,’ I said. ‘How can we manage without you?’
Amy had scrambled out of bed now and was running up to the table. She leapt into Roger’s arms. Luke began yelling. I gathered him up from his cot and brought him in.
Suddenly I had a flash of my father, telling me about Sheila. ‘Please can’t you call her “Mum”?’
‘We’re a family,’ I wept. ‘Please don’t do this. Stay with us.’
He closed his eyes for a minute as if he was too tired to listen. ‘I’ll decide in the morning,’ he said.
That night, I didn’t sleep a wink. When I looked across at him as the early-morning light began to dawn, I found Roger staring up at the ceiling too. ‘What are you going to do?’ I whispered.
‘I’ll give her up,’ he said flatly. ‘I’ve got no choice.’
‘Thank you,’ I wept. ‘Thank you.’
‘There’s just one thing.’ His voice was icy cold. ‘You are never to mention this to anyone. I don’t want the department hearing about this.’
And that’s when I realized. Roger hadn’t made his decision to stay for the sake of us, his family. He had done it for his career. Last year, when I’d gone to a Christmas drinks do with my husband, someone had mentioned that a senior tutor had got a student pregnant and had been made to leave. He was, apparently, still looking for a job. ‘Quite right too,’ said the woman who had told me. ‘It’s absolutely disgusting.’
My husband clearly feared a similar fate. But whatever his reasons, at least he was staying with us. ‘We’ll make this work,’ I told myself fiercely. ‘We have to, for the sake of the children.’
After Roger had left for work, there was a knock on my door. ‘Forgive me,’ said Jean. ‘But I heard arguing last night through the walls. Are you all right?’
It was her kindness that broke me. I began to cry, telling her everything, despite Roger’s warnings to stay silent. It was such a relief to unburden myself. Then I panicked. ‘You mustn’t tell anyone,’ I pleaded. ‘Roger would kill me.’
Her mouth tightened. ‘I knew it was him I’d seen in Chipping Norton that day.’
‘Do you think it’s the same woman?’ I asked.
‘Doesn’t matter. It just shows he’s capable of it.’ Jean bit her lip. ‘Clever of him to suggest you went to the police. He was banking on you not doing that.’
‘Have I got this wrong,’ I asked slowly, ‘or have you had a similar experience?’
My neighbour nodded, her mouth a straight line. ‘I took the hard way out. I insisted on a divorce. Now, in my older years, I find myself wondering if I made too much of a fuss. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything to you.’ Then she shook herself. ‘Listen. Why don’t you leave the kids with me today and go out for a couple of hours on your own? I’ll look after them in your house so they’ve got all their things.’
Roger wouldn’t be pleased. But he wasn’t going to be back until later. I had to admit that the thought of being able to think clearly without the demands of two small children was tempting.
So I took the bus into town and wandered round the colleges. I hung about outside Roger’s and watched the young women coming in and out. None looked like the confident one with the Irish accent who had turned up on my doorstep. I couldn’t think of her by name. It would have made her too real.
One day, I promised myself, when the children were at school, I’d train as a teacher and find work. Maybe that’s what I needed. But then I thought of my medical records. Would anyone employ me?
When I got back, Jean met me at the door. Instantly, I could tell something had happened. ‘The children are all right,’ she said swiftly. ‘But you had a visitor.’
‘That girl again?’
She looked at me. ‘No. It was a man. He said he was your father.’
I didn’t know what to say. I’d told Jean, as I had everyone, that I didn’t have a family any more.
‘I’m not going to ask questions,’ she said. ‘He left you this.’
It wasn’t a long note. There was no address at the top. Or date.
Ellie [no ‘dear’],
Thank you for your letter, which Cornelius kindly forwarded, telling me about Luke and Amy. The older I get, the more I find myself thinking of the past. I was in your area and called in on the chance you might be there. At least I got to see my grandchildren. The resemblance is extraordinary. Luke, in particular, is so like Michael, isn’t he?
Dad.
There was a small package with it. Inside was my music box.
‘It belonged to my mother,’ I whispered, stroking the carved wooden top. ‘After she died, it made me feel she was still with me.’
Jean gave me a brief hug. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked.
I nodded. This was all my fault. I knew I’d made a mistake in digging up the past as soon as I’d posted that letter to my father via Cornelius. I should have ripped it up or burned it like the others.
‘We all have our secrets,’ she said quietly.
Roger certainly had his. But in comparison with mine, they were nothing.
50
Jo
Plymouth has got loads of people in it; so many more than Mousehole and Boscastle. I wonder for a minute if Tim and Lucky are back with his mum. Then I think of Steve squatting down on another pavement. Fiercely, I push them out of my head, remembering what a friend had once told me: ‘If you want to survive, you’ve got to put number one first.’
A man bumps into me and I start. ‘Sorry,’ he mumbles. My heart continues to beat fast, long after he’s gone.
I gaze up at the shiny glass building I’d spotted from the coach. I take a look inside but there are security staff everywhere. When I come out, giddy from the noise, I see a sign for a Pop-up Christmas Market. Maybe I’ll try my luck there. In my experience, stallholders don’t ask as many questions as shopkeepers. It’s not very big – more toys and tinsel than anything else – but there’s a man over there with an ‘Antiques and Bric-a-Brac’ sign.
‘How much will you give me for this?’ I ask, showing him the blonde lady’s watch.
He holds it up to his ear. ‘Works, does it?’
I pretend to be offended. ‘Would I bring it to you if it didn’t?’
‘You’d be surprised what people do.’
He makes a play of examining it. ‘Twenty quid,’ he says.
‘Come on,’ I snort. ‘We both know it’s worth more than that.’
He eyeballs me. ‘Then why don’t you take it to one of the fancy jewellers round here?’
I shrug. ‘So you don’t want it, then?’
‘Yours to sell, is it?’ he asks.
I think of the silver bracelet I’d flogged back in Bristol. ‘Of course it is.’ I make myself sound as posh as possible.
‘Thirty-five quid, then, and not a penny more.’
‘Forty.’
He hands it back to me and turns away.
‘All right,’ I say grudgingly. ‘I’ll take thirty-five, but it’s daylight bloody robbery.’
He must have known I’d accept because he’s already got three tenners and a fiver in his hands.
‘Times are tough,’ he says, shrugging.
I pocket the notes. With any luck, this and the American money will see me through for a bit.
‘Know of any hostels round here?’ I ask.
‘I do, but they’re more than likely to be filled up by this time of day.’ Then his face softens. ‘There’s this community café that does hot meals and even has a shower room, mind. It’s about twenty minutes’ walk from here. If you leg it, you might get there before they shut. Go out of here and take the second left and then a right. Past the traffic lights and then left again.’
‘Thanks,’ I say.
Then he looks at me. ‘Don’t I know you from somewhere?’
I pull my beret down. ‘I’ve just got one of those faces,’ I say. Then I hurry off.
The café is packed with all kinds of people. Babies are yelling, toddlers are running around, young kids are boogieing and a couple side by side in wheelchairs are holding hands. Everyone else is sitting at groups of tables with balloons and paper hats, stuffing their faces.
‘Welcome,’ says a woman with pearls round her neck. ‘Come on in. Strictly speaking, we’re full for our Christmas tea but I’m sure we can find you a place. What’s your name?’
‘Jo,’ I say, keeping my beret on and staring around.
‘Nice to meet you, Jo.’ She’s actually shaking my hand. ‘Why don’t you come and sit here, next to Diane? She’s one of our volunteers. We’re on our puddings now but I’m sure we can find you some roast chicken and veg.’
I wolf it down and then have a double helping of Christmas pudding. ‘You look as though you needed that,’ says Diane.
She’s got kind eyes. I like her.
‘Are you travelling?’ she says.
I’d hoped that my turquoise fleece might be smart enough for people to think I was one of them. Then again, it needs a good wash now.
‘Sort of.’
‘Got anywhere to stay tonight?’
‘No.’
For one crazy moment, I hope she’ll offer to put me up at her place. But she doesn’t.
‘We’ve got some hot showers here if you fancy a wash,’ she says. ‘There’s a washing machine too. We could give you some other clothes while yours dry.’
‘Why?’ I demand.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Why do you want to help me?’
She touches my arm gently. ‘See all these people?’ she says softly. ‘Most of them don’t have homes to go to or else they live in what we call “challenging situations”. We’re a charity, so we just try to do what we can.’
A lump comes into my throat. For all the bad people in my life, it seems there’s always a good person who comes up every now and then. Once more, I try not to think about Steve.
‘Now, why don’t we get you sorted and then you can join in the party games.’
‘That sort of thing isn’t for me,’ I say.
Diane laughs. ‘You might change your mind.’
She’s right. When I come out from the shower – in a pair of black trousers and a pink jumper, which I chose from a box labelled ‘Women’s Medium Size’ – the others are playing pass the parcel. Someone shifts up for me and I take a place. The parcel stops in my lap.
