Silent Victim(11)

After allowing me to talk through Emma’s progress in class, he took a sip of the water I had offered, then crossed his legs. ‘I came here without Emma because I wanted to speak frankly,’ he said. ‘She’s come on in leaps and bounds since you took over. I’d like to thank you for everything that you’ve done.’

‘Just doing my job,’ I replied, knowing that my time with his daughter had gone way beyond that.

‘It’s meant a lot to me,’ Mr Hetherington said, his eyes dropping to the handkerchief held tightly in his hand. ‘I don’t know if you’re aware but my wife, Isobel, walked out on us a couple of years ago.’ He delivered the words with a subtle shake of the head. ‘It’s really affected Emma. She’s had . . . problems. The doctors said it’s down to anxiety. I’ve tried to keep an eye on her, make sure everything’s OK.’

I gave him a sympathetic nod. The head teacher, Mrs Pritchard, had filled me in on the extent of Emma’s problems, after I made it my business to get to know her better.

Bob raised his tissue to his mouth and choked another cough. ‘Mind you,’ he said, clearing his throat, ‘I don’t think Emma’s going to set the art world on fire. She’s got her heart set on business studies when she leaves school. But I know you’ve been talking after class and she comes and sees you during her lunch hour.’

I felt a sharp surge of panic as he brought up our private meetings. The last couple of weeks, Emma had been bringing in her mother’s old sketches, trying to emulate her style. I had put up with Emma’s meanderings in order to draw her in, but it seemed she had let her father in on our little get-togethers. Was he going to tell me off? Report me to the head? I had done nothing wrong – at least, not yet. I tightened my grip on the pen I was holding. If Mr Hetherington wanted to make a big deal out of this it could make my life very difficult. I’d put a lot of time in, getting Emma on side, promising myself that she would be worth all the effort, but now I was not so sure.

‘Anyway,’ he continued, talking over the babble of students out in the hall. ‘I just wanted to say thank you. I hope she’s not making a nuisance of herself. She’s been a lot less . . . troubled since you began teaching her class.’ He sighed. His exhalation ended in a jagged cough. ‘I’ve been a bit lost, raising two girls on my own, and my health isn’t very good, as you can see.’ Pulling the paper handkerchief back from his pocket, he wiped his mouth before continuing. ‘Tizzy – that’s Emma’s sister – doesn’t live with us any more, and Emma spends most nights in her room. Knowing she has someone to talk to has helped ease my mind.’

I nodded, my pulse rate returning to normal. Emma had told me about her sister and how a falling out of some sort had driven her away. She really was a lost, lonely little soul – which was good, because now she was starting to rely on me. I knew from my own sister’s ditherings about boys how the female mind worked and had learned how to read the signs from an early age. The first person to arrive and the last to leave the class, Emma just couldn’t keep away. The fact she had told her father about our blossoming friendship displayed just how naive she was.

‘I’m glad she’s feeling better,’ I said. ‘I’m always on hand to offer counsel, but Emma’s a bright girl and she’s growing stronger in her own right. I’m sure she’ll be very successful in whatever field she chooses.’ I wanted to ask more about her background but thought it better to rein my interest in. It was only a matter of time before Emma became attracted to me. Coaxing young women into my bed came as no trouble at all. Trust took longer; I had to build enough that she would lie for me if the shit hit the fan.

‘Thank you, that’s good to hear,’ Mr Hetherington said.

‘She often talks about her mother,’ I said, giving in to the temptation to find out more. ‘I think it’s why she’s so interested in art. A shared interest helps her feel closer to her.’ I sighed for effect, lacing my fingers together. ‘She used to blame herself for her disappearance, but we’ve talked it through. She’s feeling a lot better about things now.’

Mr Hetherington shifted in his chair. ‘Isobel was very unhappy. She’d been talking about leaving for months.’ His eyes glazed over as he recalled a memory. ‘She wasn’t cut out for motherhood. Didn’t bond with her children like most mothers do. Then she started drinking and, well . . . let’s just say the girls are better off without her.’ He rose, offering his hand once again. It was warm and clammy and I fought the instinct to wipe my palm on the back of my trousers after we shook. No wonder Emma was happy in my company, if this was all she had waiting for her at home. A doddery old man on his last legs in a bungalow in the wilds of East Mersea. I had seen it from a distance, when I followed the bus as it brought her safely home. My previous encounters with fifteen-year-old girls taught me they could be economical with the truth. But Emma was a good girl and had not let me down. She just needed some extra lessons in discretion before I advanced my plans.





CHAPTER TWELVE

EMMA





2017


Tiny needles of rain spiked my face as I waded through the greasy leaves and muddy track to cover the ditch I had just disturbed. I worked on autopilot, dragging the broken branches back into place. My breath ragged from exertion, I worked swiftly as I camouflaged my tracks. The icy wind had permeated my clothes, numbing my fingers and toes. My mind had been hurled into chaos as I tried to comprehend what had happened to Luke. By the time I returned to the house, I had only minutes to spare. But I had not expected to see my husband as I opened the back door.