Thirty-Nine

Retracing her steps down Hawthorn Drive and along Berry Lane, Mandy came to the bus stop in Cranberry Avenue. She took her place in the queue with three others and switched on her phone. As it came to life it bleeped with two text messages, one from Adam: Fone if u r back in time 2nite, and the other advising her she had a voicemail message. She pressed call-back and heard her father’s voice saying he’d pick her up at 9.30 a.m. It was Grandpa’s funeral the following day and she was going with her parents in their car. She texted his mobile: Thanx 4 mssge. c u 2mrrw. luv m. Returning her phone to her bag she looked down the road in the direction the bus would be coming, and vaguely watched the passing traffic.

She hadn’t thought to ask how Jimmy had died, and it didn’t really matter. The end result was the same. She supposed it must have been a heart attack or cancer; that’s what usually seemed to kill middle-aged men. She wondered again at the grieving process his wife and daughter were going through – losing someone they’d loved but at the same time hating him for what he’d done. And again Mandy’s heart went out to them for what they were struggling to come to terms with.

The bus arrived; there were only aisle seats left and she sat next to a teenage girl who was listening to her iPod. It was about twenty minutes to the station and then, if the train and tubes were running a good service, two hours home. She should be home about 7 p.m. – early enough to see Adam. But before she phoned him to say she was home she knew she’d have to phone her aunt and uncle and tell them of Jimmy’s death. She knew she had a duty to tell them and it was a duty she needed to discharge as soon as possible – certainly before she saw them at the funeral the following day. But it wasn’t something you could say on a mobile in public, the bus was crowded, so she’d wait until she got home to call them in private.

Fifteen minutes later the bus pulled into the station terminus and Mandy got off. It was the start of rush hour and the station was busier that it had been when she’d arrived. She needed to use the Ladies before she boarded the train and she threaded her way through the commuters to the WC. Coming out, she crossed to the kiosk and bought a chocolate bar and bottle of water for the journey. Then she checked on the signboard for the time and platform of the next train into Paddington: 17.05 from Platform 3.

Suddenly she heard a small cry from behind and someone arrived at her side. ‘Hannah! Whatever are you doing here?’ Mandy gasped. The girl was still in her school uniform and was flushed from running.

‘I need to talk to you,’ she panted, looking at her anxiously.

For a second Mandy thought something dreadful must have happened as a result of her visit. ‘What’s the matter? Is your mother all right?’

‘Yes, but I have to tell you something. Something Mum couldn’t tell you and I think you should know.’

Mandy hesitated. What on earth could Hannah have to tell her that her mother hadn’t felt able to? ‘Does your mother know you’re here?’

Hannah nodded. ‘She tried to stop me from coming, but I insisted. I must talk to you. Please.’

Mandy could see her desperation. ‘All right.’ She looked around for somewhere they could go. There was a small coffee bar near the entrance to the station. ‘We can go over there. Do you want a drink?’ Hannah shook her head.

Going in, Mandy bought a coffee for herself and set it on the table between them. She looked at Hannah and waited. She was a plain but attractive girl with long fair hair. She had inherited her mother’s features, which was just as well, Mandy thought, for she would have found it very difficult to sit opposite a face that reminded her of Jimmy.

Hannah fiddled with the cuff on her school shirt and then suddenly blurted: ‘What my mum told you about my father not being prosecuted wasn’t true.’

‘No?’ Mandy asked shocked.

Hannah shook her head. ‘He was going to be prosecuted and would have gone to prison if he hadn’t died.’

Mandy looked at her, completely taken aback but at a loss to understand what she was trying to tell her. ‘I’m sorry, Hannah, I don’t understand.’

She stopped fiddling with her cuff and looked up sharply. ‘He would have gone to prison for a long time if he hadn’t died. But not because of Katie, because of me.’

Mandy stared at her and turned cold. ‘Why? Because of something you told the police?’ she asked tentatively.

Hannah gave a small nod and looked down at her cuff again. ‘I reported my father to the police because of what he did to me.’

Dear God, Mandy thought, not his own daughter! Surely not. She stared horrified at Hannah as she tugged at her cuff, and waited.

‘There was enough evidence to convict him this time,’ Hannah said after a moment. ‘I made sure of it. I took the sheets from my bed and I let a police doctor examine me. I was prepared to go to court.’

Mandy reached out and touched her arm. ‘I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say.’ She felt her eyes mist and a lump rise in her throat. Hannah sat passively staring at the table between them. ‘I’m sorry,’ Mandy said again, helpless in the face of her suffering.

‘I was ten when it began,’ Hannah said in the same flat and emotionless voice and without meeting her eyes. ‘He came into my room one evening when Mum was out, and raped me. It went on for two years – whenever he had the opportunity. It only stopped when I reported him to the police. I don’t know why I didn’t tell Mum. I think it was because he made me believe it was my fault.’ She looked up sharply and met Mandy’s eyes. ‘He said I was sexy and since I’d started to get breasts I’d been leading him on and teasing him. He said if I told Mum, she and Vanessa would blame me and hate me for ever. He said I’d be put in a children’s home and no one would ever visit me again. It sounds ridiculous now but I was so confused and frightened I believed what he said. He also said if I stopped him there was always Vanessa. She was eight at the time.’ She shrugged. ‘I guess I felt by letting him continue I was protecting my sister.’

Hannah was calm as she spoke, too calm, Mandy thought, as though all the emotion had been wrung from her and she had nothing left to feel. ‘He wouldn’t have got away with it this time,’ Hannah added tightly. ‘He would have been put in prison for a long time. But he died first.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ Mandy said again, completely overwhelmed. ‘I can only guess at what you must be going through.’

Hannah looked at her. ‘It was you who finally made me go to the police and report him.’

‘Me?’

‘Yes. Last Christmas Mum got out some old family photographs. We were looking at them, Dad as well, and there was a picture of you with Uncle John and Auntie Evelyn from when you were little. I asked Dad why we never saw Uncle John and he flew into a rage and tore up the photo. Then he had a right go at Mum. It was a rotten Christmas. Later I asked Mum why he’d been so angry and Mum said it was because you’d caused a lot of trouble by saying things about him that weren’t true. I knew then that he’d done something to you. I just knew it. And to Katie as well. I knew I had to stop him. The day after Boxing Day I went to the police. Later that afternoon they arrested him and he died the following day.’

Hannah stopped and Mandy reached over and took her hand in hers. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said again. Then with the need to now know everything she asked gently: ‘How did he die?’

Hannah hesitated and Mandy saw her bottom lip tremble; it was the first emotion she’d shown since she’d started to tell her. ‘After he’d been charged he was released on bail but he wasn’t allowed to come home or anywhere near me. That evening the police came to our home and said he was dead. He’d committed suicide.’ Mandy shuddered and held her hand tightly. ‘He jumped under a train in London. So now I have to live with the guilt of being responsible for his suicide as well as everything else. I don’t know whether to feel relieved or sorry he’s dead. I’d like to believe none of it’s my fault, but I can’t.’

Mandy held her hand. It was some time before she spoke; words seemed totally ineffective beside the enormity of what Hannah had gone through – was still going through. ‘If only I’d reported him,’ Mandy said at last. ‘You and Katie wouldn’t have suffered.’

Hannah gave a small shrug. ‘Mum says the only person to blame is him.’

They were silent again, then Hannah’s phone rang from the pocket of her school blazer. She took it out and answered it. ‘Yes, Mum, I’m with her now. No, at the station. Yes, I won’t be long.’ She closed the phone and returned it to her pocket. ‘Mum worries about me all the time.’

‘I can understand why.’

’Anyway,’ Hannah said with a small shrug, ‘I wanted you to know. And maybe we could keep in touch? I think it would help if I could talk to you sometimes – like an older sister. Is that OK?’

‘Yes, of course. Give me your number and I’ll put it in my phone, then I’ll text you and you’ll have my number.’ Mandy took her phone from her bag and as Hannah recited the number of her phone she entered it in hers.

‘Are you getting help? Counselling?’ Mandy asked after a moment.

‘Yes, I go once a fortnight.’

‘Good.’

They were silent again. Mandy took a sip from the coffee which was now cold and, pulling a face, pushed the cup to one side.

Hannah smiled. ‘I’d better be going. Mum will be worried. Thanks for listening.’

‘Thanks for telling me. It was very brave of you. It helps me.’

Hannah shrugged. ‘I don’t feel brave. I often feel like shit. Sometimes I wish I hadn’t said anything.’

Mandy leant across the table in earnest. ‘Hannah, you did right. Believe me. I know how difficult it is now. You’ve suffered dreadfully but you did the right thing. If you hadn’t reported him he wouldn’t have stopped, and how long would it have been before he went on to abuse your sister? And others after her.’

‘That’s what Mum says. I guess I have to give myself time.’ She shrugged, unconvinced, and stood.

Mandy also stood and walked with her out of the coffee shop and on to the station concourse. They turned to face each other and hugged. ‘I’ll text when I’m on the train,’ Mandy said.

‘Thanks.’ Hannah turned, and Mandy watched her walk away. She’d been through so much, how was she coping? How could her life or her mother’s ever be normal again? It made Mandy’s own suffering seem manageable beside hers.

Checking the signboard Mandy saw the next train for Paddington was in five minutes, and she made her way to Platform 3. As she went she texted Hannah so she would have her number: You did the right thing and it was never ever yr fault. luv mandy x.

A minute later a text came back: Thanks x.