Honest Page 11

  They both nodded. The female officer patted my back gently. ‘And what happened tonight?’

  I described it as if I was describing me and Peter, the party, everything, but I left out his name. Stop stop stop the voice was saying, but it was too late and my way was easier, and I just needed something to be easier for once in my life. I said I was taken up to Diane and Dennis’ bedroom to look at a Les Paul guitar, when there on the bed it all happened.

  ‘And you came straight here?’

  I nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘This man you described, he lived at the house where the party was taking place?’

  I held my breath and said it. ‘Yes.’ In my head I could hear the rapping on my bedroom door, felt dad crying against my chest, and yet...

  ‘And can you name the man you’ve described?’ said the male officer, looking more serious now. Constable Martin patted my back.

  I thought of Dad, I thought of Peter, I thought of being all alone in London with nothing and nobody. Yes, dad gone, but everything else with it. I would be a ghost, wandering through the empty house of my own life. I couldn’t say a name and be safe, never, and with Diane against me she would shield Peter from me at all costs because he was hers and I knew it.

  And God, at that moment, I swear, I was so full of hatred for her. If she hadn’t caught us none of this would have happened, and now she was getting what she wanted while I was here, ashamed of myself.

  Why didn’t bad things happen to people like Diane, I thought? Why only me? Why did I have to compromise, and lose, lose, lose, at every turn?

  And that’s when the name came to me, and it wasn’t dad’s. I couldn’t help myself. I was partially, bitterly glad to say his name, just to damn that stuck up woman with her hands all over my boyfriend, the only person to ever really love me. Even though it was so, so wrong. Even though he never deserved it.

  But even when the voice was saying stop stop stop it was far too late.

  ‘Dennis Denton,’ I said, my voice impossibly loud in that tiny room. I immediately erupted into tears and thought of Peter, and how devastated he would be. I thought of dad and imagined his sly relief, and inside I was seething, asking myself why I was letting him get away with what he was doing to me, and why I was lying when it was just so simple—

  And yet. It wasn’t simple, and it never was simple. It was just the only way I could keep my father and Peter; the only way I could stay safe, whatever safe was. I could have let Peter throttle my dad, let the police come, let him explain everything. We might have found a way, but I was just too frightened to find out.

  And now it was too late.

  ‘Dennis Denton,’ said the male officer. ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Yes.’ I croaked.

  The officers looked at one another as if they knew his name already; knew exactly who I was talking about. And neither of them could quite believe it, I could tell. And yet here I was, giving them his name.

  I had to wait while they called an on–call social worker and a nurse to come and look me over. They needed evidence, they said, even though they knew it was so difficult and horrible for me; there there, poppet.

  The nurse made me lay down on a bed covered with a long sheet of tissue while she examined me, but it didn’t take long. The evidence of intercourse taking place was there, and she was satisfied.

  After that I met a social worker called Anne, who had a blond bob–cut and looked to be in her forties. She sat down with me and explained that the officers were going to go on their way to make the arrest soon, and we spent a while going over everything that had happened in detail.

  ‘Now I know we’ve already had a long chat about this, but I just want you to confirm a couple of things. So, in the bedroom there is a bedside cabinet containing the contraception?’

  I nodded. ‘Somewhere there’s a wrapper.’

  My shaking was subsiding. Somehow the lies were making it seem true, as if it really had been Dennis all along and not dad. The only thing that hurt was pretending that my first time with Peter had never happened, like I was denying him completely and replacing him with something ugly.

  Anne nodded. ‘And you mentioned the underwear.’

  ‘It’s somewhere in there. We were interrupted.’

  Anne looked at me. ‘By Peter, your friend who invited you, is that right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Anne looked over her notes, nodding slowly. ‘All right. I’ll go and take these notes to the officers and they’ll send a small team to arrest the man in question. Now, are you all right?’

  ‘No,’ I admitted. I wanted to be back with Peter, not here in this little room. I wondered if he was still waiting on the harbour, looking out for that car.

  ‘Don’t get me wrong — this won’t go to trial right away, and we’ll have plenty of time to go over the facts. But is there anything else you can think of to strengthen your report?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I said. ‘I’ve told you all I can.’

  ‘I know, I know, but this is a very serious allegation and we need to be as thorough as possible. Let me put it this way: is there any more initial evidence that might be lost if we don’t attain it now?’

  It was all gobbledygook to me. ‘What?’

  ‘So far we have the underwear and the wrapper — that’s evidence, along with your examination by the nurse, to suggest something happened tonight. But if you want to report ongoing sexual abuse over a number of years, you might benefit from proof other than just your word for it. If there’s anyone who could dispose of evidence—’

  ‘Like his wife?’

  ‘Yes, perhaps. Can you think of anything?’

  I thought about it, pretending it was dad again and not Dennis, mostly for my own sanity. I couldn’t get Peter out of my head. I thought of the first day I met him, and that time in the bathroom...Then it hit me.

  ‘He gave me a nightdress once. It’s up the chimney.’

  Anne blinked, pen in hand. ‘Pardon?’

  ‘A black nightdress he gave me years ago. I stuffed it up the chimney at home in the cottage. It should still be there.’

  ‘Right,’ said Anne, frowning as she noted it down. ‘Right.’

  ‘Can I use the bathroom now?’ I said listlessly, weary of everything. My tummy twisted and writhed, thinking of that police car making its way to Dennis’ birthday party. Dennis, who I really liked, and who liked me, and understood me. And it was a small town, too. Everybody knew Dennis.

  ‘Um, yes, yes, why not? Let me just make a few adjustments to the notes I’ve made and I’ll be right with you.’

  ‘I’ll just ask one of the officers where the loo is,’ I said.

  She looked flustered, clutching her papers, unsure. ‘All right, all right. Be quick,’ she said.

  I walked out of the room, my knees shaking. I saw the front entrance, beckoning me. Peter was waiting. If I could just have one last minute with him, explain everything—

  How could I? What could I say? He would never, ever forgive me, and he knew the truth. But I hadn’t been thinking straight at all, and now it was far too late to take it all back. I had sacrificed Dennis to keep Peter and my father, when really all I wanted was Peter.

  I’d backed us both into a corner, and there was no way out.

  I tried to shut my brain off completely and just focus on that entranceway. The drunk woman from earlier was shouting the odds in her cell down the hall. There was one female officer at the desk, and she was leaning off her chair, calling out to the drunken woman to behave. She had her back to me.

  I took my chance and, ducking low, hurried clean out the doorway, onto the cobbled streets, running for my life towards Peter.

  Chapter Fifteen

  He was still there, watching the police car turning the corner up his road, its lights flashing. I had a couple of seconds, as I ran to him, to observe how innocent he appeared watching that car, not knowing that they were after his father and not mine.

  Panting, my face st
ained with tears, I called out his name. He held out his arms to me and grabbed me when I got near, hugging me tight. His skin was so cold and he was shaking, but as he hugged me close he kissed the crown of my head again and again, oblivious to it. Then he took my face in his hands and looked at me.

  ‘Why have they let you go?’ he asked.

  ‘I ran away,’ I said. ‘I just wanted to be with you, Pete. Oh, Pete, they’re going to keep me there forever. I wish I’d never done it. They’re arresting him, and there’s evidence, and god, this nurse looked at me—’ I rambled while Peter cupped my face, planting kisses on my forehead. They weren’t enough to calm me down, not now. Not while I was still on this earth.

  ‘It’s okay,’ he said, stroking me with his long guitarist fingers, their tips as cold as a frosty window pane. ‘You’re so brave, El’.’ He pulled me close again and held me. ‘You’re so brave. You’re the bravest person I know.’

  I ducked my head against his chest and squeezed, thinking, never let me go. When I opened my eyes I realised it must have been so late, maybe even the early hours of the morning now. I glanced over the wall at all the boats, softly rocking on the water. A small motorboat caught my eye. I cocked my head to one side and saw the logo: Denton.

  ‘Your mum and dad’s boat,’ I said, my voice a dry whisper. ‘We were going to go out on it this summer. Dennis said we’d go fishing.’

  ‘We still can,’ said Peter. ‘I told you, we’re gonna look after you. I promise.’

  I looked up at him, pleading, grasping both of his hands. ‘Take me out on the water now.’

  ‘No, El’, it’s late. Come on, we can’t. You’re mixed up, you’re upset—’

  I squeezed his hands, fresh tears tumbling from my eyes. If only we could get out on that clear water I might be able to think for just a minute, just a couple of minutes.

  I thought: I could take it all back. I could pretend I was drunk and making it up, anything...but no, Peter wouldn’t forgive me.

  Then again, he’d never forgive me for blaming his father, knowing that mine was the criminal, the sicko. That was so much worse.

  ‘Peter I can’t stay here. I can’t hear my own thoughts. My head is screaming for Christ’s sake. Please just do this for me; just take me away before they make me leave the cottage, please!’

  He put his arm around my shoulders, frowning. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘All right. Let’s go.’

  The key was hidden under a big terracotta plant pot by the stone stairwell leading down to the boats. We crept down like smugglers in the dark, the cold biting through the soles of my shoes. I held Peter’s hand the whole way down, and when we were close enough to jump in the little motorboat, he turned around and helped me in.

  I could hear a commotion in the street, someone screaming, others shouting. Peter heard it too, pausing, before he sat at the back of the boat and cranked the engine into life, yanking the choke rope several times. It roared, the water bubbled, and slowly the boat chugged away from the harbour.

  As we inched further and further away, my scrambled mind ached just a little less. I watched the lights above the harbour float away like orbs, the shops and houses getting smaller, the cliffs swelling around us before we broke free of them completely. Then it was just the dark, inky black ocean all around us, on a silent, moonlit night.

  Peter took my hand in his, keeping his free hand on the lever to steer. His back against the moon, his face and skin were darkened in shadow, and what I found so beautiful about him now frightened me. I saw his broad shoulders, his thick wrists, his height, all so much like the man I had just condemned.

  ‘El’, I’m going to be with you all the way through this, you know that,’ said Peter, his voice soft and familiar and close in the stillness of the night.

  ‘I know,’ I said between cries. Somehow I just couldn’t stop, and seeing Peter like this only made things worse. What was I doing, saving my monster of a father? Because that’s what it was, and that’s how Peter would see it no matter how much I explained. I thought of Dennis’ big kind eyes, his huge laugh, his thick scouser voice.

  It turned my stomach over to think of what must be happening right then: the police hammering on the door, Diane answering, dad’s heart stopping as they waded into the garden; Dennis’ contorted, confused, drunken face as they put the cuffs on him; the outcries of his friends, Diane’s frantic tears as they stated the reason for his arrest.

  ‘El’,’ Peter said, breaking my thoughts. ‘Wear the life jacket. It’s just there, right behind you.’

  I felt for it below my seat and, with shaking hands, I pulled it on over my head. ‘Where’s yours?’ I asked.

  Peter shrugged. ‘The sea’s calm enough. The rest are at home. It’s all right, El’, don’t look at me like that, I’ll be fine — I just want you to wear yours.’

  ‘Look at you like what?’ I said, fearing he could read my mind, though of course that was impossible.

  ‘Like someone’s walked over your grave.’

  ‘Peter,’ I said, clearing my throat, my voice shrill in fear. I was going to tell him, I was, I swore I was.

  But when I saw his hand on the lever, and saw the way he twisted it towards himself to make the boat go faster, and push it back to slow it down, my hand sprung to cover his.

  I just thought, I just thought, oh, I didn’t know what I was thinking, but the ocean was so deep and everything on earth so painful that I just thought, now that we were together, and everything would be ruined, I just thought—

  ‘What are you doing?!’ Peter screamed, trying to pry my hand off while I slammed the lever as far in as I could, and the boat lurched forward to an impossible speed, the water skimming by our heads.

  If we could just go together, maybe, maybe, I just thought if the afterlife existed—

  ‘Ellen you’re going to kill us!’ Peter pushed my abdomen with his foot, forcing me away, but in my fury and tears I was so much stronger. I shoved the lever with both hands, the boat roaring and raging, buzzing like a giant insect, and all that went through my head was make it stop make it stop make it stop, but it wasn’t the boat I was thinking of. The boat would be blessed relief.

  There was a horrendous crash and the sound of splitting wood, and suddenly the boat launched into the air, turning on its side, and while Peter thrashed about and screamed, I knew it was too late. We were already going under.

  My eardrums roared as sharp water flooded my head, my mouth, my nose, drowning me. There was an almighty searing pain in my calf, then a sudden cloud all around me, blinding me. As I sank lower and felt the inertia of the engine sinking beneath me, I swore, I felt Peter’s fingertips brush mine.

  My mind went foggy and my eyes closed and my heart stopped, but all the while I was screaming inside, screaming, PETER!

  Above me, the propeller of the helicopter span so fast it made a blur of the stars. A mask was fastened to my face.

  In my sleep I heard the words they’ve found him. In my sleep I cried and cried.

  In my sleep I felt the cold harbour stone beneath me and heard the wailing of the ambulances.

  When I woke I coughed up water and felt the sting in my throat. My leg was numb. I looked down and saw red flesh, red as Peter’s tear ducts, red as a gutted fish. Up ahead I saw two men pumping another man’s torso.

  In the hospital they loaded me up with drugs and carted me straight to theatre. As we passed a crowd of people, I heard a doctor say I’m sorry there was nothing we could....his head injury....severe...swallowed too much wa....I’m so sorry. When my gurney was wheeled around a corner, I swore I could hear Diane screaming. I fell asleep.

  I woke up, I fell asleep. I woke and dad was watching me. I fell asleep.

  I woke up and dad told me, ‘Darling I’m just so sorry but Peter—’

  ‘He didn’t make—’

  ‘I’m just so glad you’re alive. What were you—’

  ‘Why did you? Why did you?’

  ‘He’s been charged. Elle
n they searched the house and found—

  ‘How are we ever going to clear up this mess—’

  I woke up with Diane’s hands around my throat, her bloodshot eyes boring into mine, her teeth bared. ‘I’ll kill you! You killed my baby!’ she screamed. ‘I’ll kill you!’

  Four nurses dragged her back as the security men arrived to take her away. I was plugged into machines and a wire trailed from my hand. My leg was cast and ached like crazy. Diane was dragged screaming from the room. In the hall I could see dad with his face in his palms, hunched over, shaking.

  My head was fuzzy and thick from drugs and an eternity of sleep, but when I realised I was alive all I wanted to do was scream like Diane. She’d screamed for me.

  I rolled over and threw up all over the pale blue bedspread. All that went through my mind was I am a liar and I killed Peter Denton.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I waited by the front door for dad to get home, scratching the arms of my chair and biting my hangnails until they bled. When he finally arrived, I told him right away what David had said: that Dennis was out of prison. I watched his face drain of all colour as he shut the front door behind him. The slam clattered throughout the house like a snap of thunder.

  ‘He’ll come here,’ he said, his voice shaking. ‘If that’s true, and he’s really out. I know Dennis. He’ll come here. I know he will.’

  ‘Don’t scare me,’ I said, biting my lip. ‘Melanie tried to tell me but I wasn’t listening properly. Will he really come here for us, Dad?’

  He paced the floor, scratching the back of his head, his long ponytail wet and thin from the rain. He shrugged off his coat, frowning in thought. ‘It depends. I don’t know. It’s something the old him would do.’

  ‘What do you mean the old him? What’s he going to be like now?’

  ‘He’s been in prison, Ellen.’ Dad snapped, making me flinch. I could tell he was scared, genuinely scared, because he never raised his voice like that. I kept my mouth shut and listened. His breaths were small and quick. ‘Who knows what he’ll be like now. Have you ever met a prisoner? Ever met a man jailed for a crime like that?’